SONNET.-ON THE PAINTINGS OF WALL WALLIS.10 IS! that hast with keen poetic eye Looked through the very soul of visible things; And turned the loftiest imaginings To pencilled shapes, with hues that cannot die; Hast long conversed with southern skies, and hills, Thee, therefore, cradled in the lap of Art, The cataract-the eagle of the rock Earth in the pomp of heaven at sunset dressed— Florence, May, 1844. A SKETCH AT VALLOMBROSA. N Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades "IN High over-arched embower"-in oak and chestnut glades, Beneath the very trees by Milton seen In autumn,* now spring-clad in freshest green; sound; And to fill up the summer's vocal cheer, The nightingale sang loud and long, and cuckoo But straight the boys left off their boisterous play, *In the year 1638; 206 years ago. Each doffed his garland, each before the shrine One moment more, with shout and gambol new, flew ; And though their passing reverence was brief, For it is written, by the will of heaven, High charge to intermediate powers is given; Nor dare we say amidst these water-floods Sky-born, these solemn rocks, and caves, and glorious woods, No guardian spirits dwell, no angels hover, June, 1844. THE SACRO EREMO, OR CITY OF T THE UPPER CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI. O the recesses of the Apennine We climbed, above Camaldoli, and found The Hermits' City in deep mountain woods Of pines and chestnuts; whence, by gray ravines, The cloud-engendered waterfalls descend, Whose glorious destination is to feed The Arno and the Tiber. We were met By a good Benedictine at the gate, Who signified a welcome, spoke it not; For these converse with heavenly things alone. To many a shrine he led us, many a cell, For centuries by Saint and Anchorite used; And bowed his head, and knelt in prayer, before Carved images of wondrous sanctity; Whilst solemn intermittent undertones Dropped from his lips, like waters in a cave. Mortification weans these men from earth: Their food herbs and rock-water; iron their couch: Is dumb with snow, forth come the punctual quire, To call on God with services and hymns. And lowliness of heart. A cell's repose Too self-sufficient, and too much alone, Is to go mad!-But hold, intruding thoughts: |