The poetical works of Bayard Taylor . won! And life, new-lighted, with a lark-likeglee Through Casa Guidi windows hails thesun. Grown from the rest her spirit gaveto me. Florence, 1867. PANDORA Italy, loved of the sun. Wooed of the sweet winds and wed by the , since the nations other inheritance like unto thee ? Splendors of sunshine and snowsFlash from thy peaks to thy bath in the brine ;Thine are the daisy and grace of the palm and the strength of the pine: Orchard and harvested plain; Lakes, by the touch of the tempest unstirred;Dells where the Dryads m
The poetical works of Bayard Taylor . won! And life, new-lighted, with a lark-likeglee Through Casa Guidi windows hails thesun. Grown from the rest her spirit gaveto me. Florence, 1867. PANDORA Italy, loved of the sun. Wooed of the sweet winds and wed by the , since the nations other inheritance like unto thee ? Splendors of sunshine and snowsFlash from thy peaks to thy bath in the brine ;Thine are the daisy and grace of the palm and the strength of the pine: Orchard and harvested plain; Lakes, by the touch of the tempest unstirred;Dells where the Dryads mountains that rise to a music unheard ? Generous gods, at thy on thy cradle with prodigal handGifts, and the darling of earthArt thou, and wast ever, O ravishing land ! Strength from the Thunderer came,Pride from the goddess that governs his board;While, in his forges of flame,Hephaestus attempered thine armor and sword. Lo! Aphrodite her all love to thy loveliness,gave; Sliiriiiirir ,«,:ii;i Wj^lJ^ ™lll. w h faO a >o >< < SORRENTO JS7 Leaving her Paphian throneTo breathe ou thy mountains andbrighten thy wave. Bacchus the urns of his wine Gave, and the festivals crowning thy toil;Ceres, the mother on thee bounties of com and of oil. Phoebus the songs that from the airs of Olympus, conferred:Hermes, the sweetness and fireThat pierce in the charm of the elo-quent word. So were thy graces complete ; Yea, and, though ruined, they fasci-nate now: Beautiful still are thy feet. And girt with the gold of lost lordshipthy SORRENTO The gods are gone, the temples storms of time the very rockshave shaken :The Past is mute, save where somemouldy stoneSpeaks to confuse, like speech byage pomp that crowned the wind-ing shoreHas fled for evermore:Its old magnificence shall never re-awaken. n Where once, against the Grecian Oscan warriors saw their jave-lins hurtle,Th
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