Alfred Austin - Lamia's Winter-Quarters (Alfred Austin) - with the original illustrations - (Literary Thoughts Edition)

‘I wish I had seen it,’ I said.

‘I described it to the Poet,’ Lamia replied; ‘and he then did indulge in an Impromptu, which—let me think a moment—yes—ran somewhat like this:

‘How blest are they who hunger not

For riches or renown,

And keep, within a narrow plot,

A country heart in town;

‘Who envy not, though lowly born,

Luxurious lives above,

But blend with toil, renewed each morn,

The bliss of blameless Love.’

INVOCATION

I

Where Apennine slopes unto Tuscan plain,

And breaks into dimples, and laughs to flowers,

To see where the terrors of Winter wane,

And out of a valley of grape and grain

There blossoms a City of domes and towers.

II

Teuton, Lombard, and grasping Gaul,

Prince and Pontiff, have forced their way,

Have forded the river, and scaled the wall,

And made in its palaces stye and stall,

Where spears might glisten and war-steeds neigh.

III

But ever since Florence was fair and young,

And the sun upon turret and belfry shone,

Were her windows bannered and joy-bells rung,

When back to his saddle the Stranger sprung,

And lances were lifted and pikemen gone.

IV

Yes, ever and ever till you, my Queen,

Came over the sea that is all your own,

When the tear on the tip of the vine is seen,

And the fig-tree cressets have flamed to green,

And windflower wakened, and tulip blown.

V

Then roses were showered before your feet,

And her lily-crowned gonfalons waved above,

And children chanted in square and street,

‘All hail to the Monarch may free men greet,

Whose sceptre is Peace, and whose Throne is Love.’

VI

And now that each snow-torrent foams and falls,

And the oreoles sing and the skylarks soar,

And the lithe swallow circles her rose-white walls,

Through the clefts of the Apennine Florence calls,

‘More welcome than Spring,’ come back once more!

VII

‘Come back, for the cuckoo is on its way,

And the mountains, smiling, await your smile;

And still in my olive-groves bask and stray,

Till the warm-winged waters and winds of May

Shall waft you back to your own loved Isle.’

I Cedri,

Pian di Ripoli, Florence,

Lady-Day, 1898.

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