650
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821
'No, now all's right.' 'Those bottles of warm tea—
(Give me some straw)—must be stowed tenderly;
Such as we used, in summer after six,
To cram in greatcoat pockets, and to mix
Hard eggs and radishes and rolls at Eton, 80
And, couched on stolen hay in those green harbours
Farmers called gaps, and we schoolboys called arbours,
Would feast till eight.'
········
With a bottle in one hand,
As if his very soul were at a stand, 85
Lionel stood—when Melchior brought him steady:—
'Sit at the helm—fasten this sheet—all ready!'
(Give me some straw)—must be stowed tenderly;
Such as we used, in summer after six,
To cram in greatcoat pockets, and to mix
Hard eggs and radishes and rolls at Eton, 80
And, couched on stolen hay in those green harbours
Farmers called gaps, and we schoolboys called arbours,
Would feast till eight.'
········
With a bottle in one hand,
As if his very soul were at a stand, 85
Lionel stood—when Melchior brought him steady:—
'Sit at the helm—fasten this sheet—all ready!'
The chain is loosed, the sails are spread,
The living breath is fresh behind,
As, with dews and sunrise fed, 90
Comes the laughing morning wind;—
The sails are full, the boat makes head
Against the Serchio's torrent fierce,
Then flags with intermitting course,
And hangs upon the wave, and stems 95
The tempest of the[1] . . .
Which fervid from its mountain source
Shallow, smooth and strong doth come,—
Swift as fire, tempestuously
It sweeps into the affrighted sea; 100
In morning's smile its eddies coil,
Its billows sparkle, toss and boil,
Torturing all its quiet light
Into columns fierce and bright.
The living breath is fresh behind,
As, with dews and sunrise fed, 90
Comes the laughing morning wind;—
The sails are full, the boat makes head
Against the Serchio's torrent fierce,
Then flags with intermitting course,
And hangs upon the wave, and stems 95
The tempest of the[1] . . .
Which fervid from its mountain source
Shallow, smooth and strong doth come,—
Swift as fire, tempestuously
It sweeps into the affrighted sea; 100
In morning's smile its eddies coil,
Its billows sparkle, toss and boil,
Torturing all its quiet light
Into columns fierce and bright.
The Serchio, twisting forth 105
Between the marble barriers which it clove
At Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm
The wave that died the death which lovers love,
Living in what it sought; as if this spasm
Had not yet passed, the toppling mountains cling, 110
But the clear stream in full enthusiasm
Pours itself on the plain, then[2] wandering
Down one clear path of effluence crystalline
Sends its superfluous[3] waves, that they may fling
At Arno's feet tribute of corn and wine; 115
Then, through the pestilential deserts wild
Of tangled marsh and woods of stunted pine[4],
It rushes to the Ocean.
Between the marble barriers which it clove
At Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm
The wave that died the death which lovers love,
Living in what it sought; as if this spasm
Had not yet passed, the toppling mountains cling, 110
But the clear stream in full enthusiasm
Pours itself on the plain, then[2] wandering
Down one clear path of effluence crystalline
Sends its superfluous[3] waves, that they may fling
At Arno's feet tribute of corn and wine; 115
Then, through the pestilential deserts wild
Of tangled marsh and woods of stunted pine[4],
It rushes to the Ocean.
