Classic and Contemporary Poetry
POINT BALBIANELLO, by JOHN LAWSON STODDARD Poet's Biography First Line: From lake como's depths ascending Last Line: And the poet's dream. Subject(s): Beauty; Fear; Poetry & Poets; Roman Empire | ||||||||
From Lake Como's depths ascending, With embankments steep Stands a wooded headland, bending With majestic sweep Till its rugged shores, expanding, Join two charming bays, Now, as formerly, commanding Universal praise. Years ago a papal Primate Built a hospice here, Which, from its delightful climate, Mild throughout the year, Soon became for convalescence A renowned retreat, Where pure air and strict quiescence Made all cures complete. "Villa Balbi", -- appellation Of the Primate's seat --, Gave its name to this location In a form more sweet, -- Soft, sonorous "Balbianello", Spoken, as if sung In the speech, so smooth and mellow, Of the Latin tongue. Balbianello, Balbianello! Point of liquid name, With thy walls of golden yellow And thy flowers of flame, When thy varied charms enthrall me Under summer skies, Tenderly I love to call thee Como's Paradise. From thy base, where in profusion Countless roses bloom, To thy crest, where sweet seclusion Reigns in leafy gloom, All is beauty, uncontested By a rival claim, All is symmetry invested With a storied fame. Cool the paths, by plane-trees shaded, Which thy slopes ascend; Grand the loggia, old and faded, Where those pathways end; -- Noble arches, well recalling Mighty works of old, Columns which, when night is falling, Turn to shafts of gold. In that loggia, fringed with roses, All my soul expands; Every arch a view discloses Of historic lands; Southward lies fair Comacina, Famed in classic lore, Northward Pliny's Tremezzina And Bellagio's shore. Miles of liquid opalescence Stretch on either hand, Curving into lovely crescents, Each with sylvan strand; While on Alpine peaks lie sleeping Realms of stainless snow, Whence the milk-white streams come leaping To the lake below. Many a far-off promontory Melts in silvery haze, Many a scene of song and story Tells of Roman days; Real and unreal, past and present, Make the vision seem Like the rapture evanescent Of a happy dream. Yet this point, so well selected, -- Peerless in its day --, Now, abandoned and neglected, Sinks to slow decay; Sculptured saints, with broken fingers, Line the ancient walls, Like a loyal guard that lingers Till the rampart falls; Vases, o'er the portal standing, Crumble into lime; Steps, ascending from the landing, Show the touch of time; And its one lone gardener, weeping As he tells his fears, Faithful watch has here been keeping Many, many years! Even he must leave it lonely, When the night grows late; Then the mouldering statues only Guard its rusty gate; Then no eye its charm discovers, And its moonlit bowers Wait in vain for happy lovers Through the silent hours. Will no champion protect thee, Fairest spot on earth? Doth a busy world neglect thee, Careless of thy worth? Even so, thy site elysian Still remains supreme, -- Acme of the painter's vision And the poet's dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALVUS IN RUINS by CHARLES MARTIN RUINES OF ROME by JOACHIM DU BELLAY WHERE A ROMAN VILLA STOOD, ABOVE FREIBURG' by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE AN EPISTLE TO CURIO by MARK AKENSIDE THE OLD CAMP; WRITTEN IN A ROMAN FORTIFICATION IN BAVARIA by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN CONQUERORS by CARL JOHN BOSTELMANN ROMAN WOMEN by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN HORACE: CHORUS AT THE END OF ACT 4 by PIERRE CORNEILLE A MAY MONODY by JOHN LAWSON STODDARD |
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