POETRY.

"FLORENCE THE BEAUTIFUL."

THE mountains and the seas between She lies—the land of golden green ; The while a glowing silence fills The bosom of the Tuscan hills, And sparkle like a landward sea The warm slopes of Fiesole.

Here, where the years their watches keep, All History's angels wake or sleep : The war-graved lines of nobles' pride, Where patriots fought and martyrs died, Till all the past may almost seem

A glorious illumined dream,—

The fire that loosed from man's control

Savonarola's fiery soul,—

The wandering airs that whisper me The story of the Medici ; While in the far-seen temples glow Andrea and Angelico, And glimmer on the red sky-shine

Pale ghosts of Guelph and Ghibelline,—

Nestles in Arno's valley curled The inland goddess of the world.

Mark her when Autumn's shades embower From Galileo's pilot-tower, While the bright little northward town O'er storied villas gazes down, Boccacio's jest and Dante's woe,

The tenor note of Mario,—

All, ere an hour of watch be ended, In one historic memory blended, Courting with kiss of waters sweet The Panorama at our feet.

So love, so breathe, thou city fair Beyond the hope of man's compare !

Still while thy varied marbles vie In colours with the varying sky, And even God's dove might once have trod.

On Brunelleschi's tower of God, Which seems to soar o'er sin and strife, A ladder to the higher life,— So dream I on, so watch I thee, Silent, from still Fiesole.

Love on, dear land of Beauty, love The airs that kiss thee from above, The golden stars that seem to hold For thee some choice reserve of gold, Skies from some unknown source that drew For thee some special depth of blue, Whose soft gradations melt and rise

Up to the gates of Paradise,—

Oh, love them in that they love thee, Thou pure and peerless Italy !

But yet, of all the gems that shine Embroidered on thy robe divine, And all the flashing facets set About thy lustrous coronet, Which links beneath one azure dome Brilliants of Naples and of Rome, And plucks from Orient's girdle far The Adriatic's emerald star, Still Nature keeps her best caress, For one soft pearl of loveliness. Sheds colours on the changeful scene, Empurpling Vallombrosa's green, Breathes thoughts on Galileo's grave, And sings in Arno's yellow wave, Till some half-tearful longing stirs The full heart of her worshippers.

So watched I when the rosy dawn Tipped shining spire and sloping lawn,— So looked I when the night came down, To clip and kiss the glittering town,— Till my own slumbers paint for me My Florence, from Fiesole !