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volcanic lands.
Here Ischia smiles O'er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the isles, Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates.
I heed not, if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;-- With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise.
Under the walls Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at intervals, At peace I lie, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky.
The day, so mild, Is Heaven's own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled;-- The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel.
Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail, A joy intense, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence.
With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where Summer sings and never dies,-- O'erveiled with vines, She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines.
Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are gambolling with the gambolling kid; Or down the walls, With tipsy calls, Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls.
The fisher's child, With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, With glowing lips Sings as she skips, Or gazes at the far-off ships.
Yon deep bark goes Where Traffic blows, From lands of sun to lands of snows;-- This happier one, Its course is run From lands of snow to lands of sun.
Oh, happy ship, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip! Oh, happy crew, My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew!
No more, no more The worldly shore Upbraids me with its loud uproar! With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise!
ROBA DI ROMA.
ENTRANCE.
It was on the 6th of December, 1856, that I landed with my family at Civita Vecchia, on my return for the third time to Rome. Before we could make all our arrangements, it was too late to think of journeying that day towards the dear old city; but the following morning we set forth in a rumbling, yellow post-coach, with three horses, and a shab