Part 21 (1/2)

TOUT Pa.s.sE

Once more I watch the crystal stream I watched in days gone by; Once more its waves reflect the gleam Of Autumn's sunset sky; Again its banks of gold and green Seem bursting into flame,-- And yet for me the lovely scene Can never be the same.

The waves that gleamed here long ago Have reached a distant sea; The leaves of that first autumn glow Have fallen from the tree; The birds which charmed me with their song Have long since elsewhere flown, And I amid a careless throng Am standing here alone.

This sparkling flood can never quite Replace the stream of old; These radiant leaves, however bright, Wear not the old-time gold; For evening's light can ne'er retain The splendor of the dawn, And naught, alas, can bring again The faces that are gone.

BESIDE LAKE COMO

THE FAUN

Within my garden's silence and seclusion, In pensive beauty gazing toward the dawn, There stands, mid vines and flowers in profusion, A sculptured Faun.

The boughs of stately trees are bending o'er him, The scent of calycanthus fills the air, And on the ivied parapet before him Bloom roses fair.

Beside him laughs the lightly-flowing fountain, Beneath him spreads the lake's enchanting hue, And, opposite, a sun-illumined mountain Meets heaven's blue.

Across Lake Como's silvered undulation The flush of dawn creeps shyly to his face, And crowns his look of dreamful contemplation With tender grace.

And he, like Memnon, thrilled to exultation, As if unable longer to be mute, Has lifted to his lips in adoration His simple flute.

Ah! would that I might hear the music stealing From yonder artless reed upon the air,-- The subtle revelation of his feeling, While standing there!

Perhaps 'tis for the Past that he is sighing, When Como's sh.o.r.e held many a hallowed shrine, Where such as he were wors.h.i.+pped,--none denying Their rights divine.

That Past is gone; its sylvan shrines have crumbled; From lake and grove the gentle fauns have fled; Its myths are scorned, Olympus has been humbled, And Pan is dead.

Yet still he plays,--the coming day adoring, With brow serene, and gladness in his gaze, All past and future happiness ignoring Just for to-day's!

Sweet Faun, whence comes thy power of retaining Through storm and suns.h.i.+ne thine unchanging smile?

Forsaken thus, what comfort, still remaining, Makes life worth while?

Impart to me the secret of discerning The gold of life, with none of its alloy, That I may also satisfy my yearning For perfect joy!

I too would shun those questions, born of sorrow,-- Life's Wherefore, Whence and Whither; I would fill My cup with present bliss, and let to-morrow Bring what it will.

O Spirit of the vanished world elysian, Cast over me the spell of thy control, And give me, for to-day's supernal vision, Thy Pagan soul!

ISOLA COMACINA

(The only Island on Lake Como, the Lake Larius of the Romans)

There sleeps beneath Italian skies A lovely island rich in fame, In days of old a longed-for prize, And bearing still an honored name,-- A spot renowned from age to age, An ancient Roman heritage;

A valued stronghold, for whose sake Unnumbered men have fought and died,-- The Malta of the Larian lake, Forever armed and fortified, To Como's sh.o.r.es the master-key, The guardian of its liberty.

Half hidden in a sheltered bay, Where tiny skiffs at anchor ride, How different is the scene to-day Reflected in its waveless tide, From that which this historic foss Showed mailed soldiers of the Cross!