Classic Poem

Eager to roam the forest-depths divine
Of thick and living foliage, whose rich gloom
Temper'd the dawn unto my mortal eyne,
I linger'd not, but through the flowery bloom,
Leaving the shore, I went with paces slow
Amid the herbage fraught with sweet perfume.
A pleasant air that seem'd no change to know,
Smote on my forehead with soft motion, still
As gentle as when summer breezes blow.
And then the leaves which, ever trembling, thrill,
With one accord all bent toward the part
When fell the shadow of the holy hill.
Yet not thereby so far did they depart
From the sweet calmness of this sunny clime,
That the small birds should cease them from their art;
But the fresh breathings of the hour of prime,
Singing, they gladly welcomed 'mong the leaves,
Which kept low murmuring tune unto their rhyme:
Even as from bough to bough the ear perceives,
In the pine-forest near to Chiassi's shore,
A melody when the east wind receives
Behest from Eolus. My footsteps bore
Me slowly onward through the ancient wood,
Until the entrance I beheld no more;
And lo! my path was ended, where a flood
Towards the left did with soft ripple glide,
Bending the grass that on its margin stood.
Here, even the purest and most crystal tide
Yet somewhat dull'd with earthly taint would seem,
Near this, which nought within its depths might hide;
Though in the dusky twilight doth its stream
Pass 'neath perpetual shadow, where there lies
Nor golden sun nor moonlight's silver beam.
My footsteps here were stay'd; but with mine eyes
I pass'd beyond the river, to admire
The fresh May-garlands' green diversities:
And then appear'd, as that which doth inspire
Most sudden marvel, and within thy thought
Doth leave no other fancy nor desire,
A lady singing all alone, who sought
Amid the field of flowers each fairest flower,
Wherewith on every side her path was fraught.
" Ah! beauteous lady, who in this sweet hour
Dost seem to bask within love's radiance clear,
If semblance to reveal the heart have power, "
I said, " now of thy courtesy draw near,
That the melodious song which thou dost sing
May come more plainly to my list'ning ear.
Thou dost unto my thought the memory bring
Of Proserpine, when her sad mother lost
Her smile, and she the gladness of the spring. "
At these my words she turn'd towards me fast,
As one who dances with swift footsteps light;
Scarcely I saw her moving, while she pass'd
Above the blooms of gold and crimson bright;
And low unto the earth her eyes she bent,
As maiden who would shrink from human sight.
But yet did she my eager prayers content,
And drew so near, that her sweet melodies
With clearest meaning to my ear were sent;
And when she came to where the herbage lies
Bathed in the waters of the lovely stream,
Full courteously to me she raised her eyes:
I well believe that with such radiant beam
The orbs of Venus shone not, when of yore
Pierced by her son. Then smiled with sunny gleam
The maiden, as she stood upon the shore,
Wreathing the flowers that in this lofty land
The soil without or seed or culture bore.
But little space was 'twixt each river-strand:
Yet Hellespont, where Xerxes cross'd the strait,
(Which still as curb to human pride doth stand,)
Ne'er from Leander suffer'd such deep hate,
Where Sestos and Abydos by the wild
Sea waves are parted, as from me this gate.
Thus she began: " Perchance because I smiled,
Ye who are strangers in this place, elect
For man, as is the cradle for the child,
May somewhat, in your wond'ring thought, suspect;
But where the Psalmist Delectasti said
Shall clearly shine upon thine intellect.
And thou, who go'st before, and me hast pray'd
To speak, what wouldst thou know? for I am bound
To answer thee, till thy desire be stay'd. "
I spake: " The river and the woodland sound
Impugn within me, by a newer faith,
The first reply which to my quest I found. "
And she: " Now tell I thee the thing which hath
So strange a semblance; and thereby shall cease
The darkness of the clouds which hide thy path.
God, who is glad in his own blessidness,
Created man unsinning; and this land
Gave him as earnest of eternal peace.
By his own fault full soon did he descend;
By his own fault, in mourning and in woe
He did his sinless smiles and joyance end.
But know, that lest the stormy winds which blow,
Raised by the mists that come from earth and sea,
The mists which in the sun's warm footsteps go,
Should here some cause of hurt or hindrance be,
This mountain-top ascends so near to heaven,
And of such strife is, from its portal, free.
And, as in circuit all the air is driven,
Revolving with the first ethereal sphere,
If by no jutting point some stay be given;
Thus, on this height, that floateth in the clear
And living air, its motion strikes, and thence
Arise the woodland whispers which ye hear.
Such virtue dwelleth in this forest dense;
Therewith it penetrates the air around,
Which, ever circling, sheds its burden hence.
For even upon the lower world is found
A different climate beneath varying skies,
And diverse plants proceed from diverse ground:
And, hearing this, it causeth not surprise,
When some wild plant or herb, at its own will,
Without or seed or culture, doth arise.
And thou shouldst know, that all this holy hill,
Where now thou art, is full of every seed
And fruit that springeth not on earth. The rill,
Which here thou lookest on, doth not proceed
From source replenishid by rain or snows,
As rivers which of fresh supplies have need;
But from a full and certain fount it flows,
Which by God's will is with so much imbued,
Wherewith it in diverging courses goes.
Toward us, on this side, descends a flood,
That bears away the memory of thy sin;
The other gives thee back again each good.
This stream is Lethi; where the waves begin
Thence to depart, flows down Eunoi's rill:
By tasting both, their virtue thou shalt win.
Their wave all other savours doth excel;
And though thy thirst might well be sated even
Did I no more discourse with thee, yet still
A corollary shall, of grace, be given;
Nor shall it less be prized, I surely deem,
If more than promised be my words of heaven.
Those who, of ancient times, in the bright gleam
Of Poesy beheld the age of gold,
Perchance in high Parnassus had this dream.
Here man was innocent, in days of old;
Here, aye is autumn and eternal spring;
This is the nectar of which erst they told. "
Towards the Poets now, with eager wing,
My glances sped, and saw the smile which came,
Soon as they heard this last imagining;
Then once again I turn'd unto that fairest dame.