Naples

Still is the Syren warbling on thy shore,
Bright city of the waves! Her magic song
Still, with a dreamy sense of ecstasy,
Fills thy soft summer air:--and while my glance
Dwells on thy pictured loveliness, that lay
Floats thus o’er fancy’s ear; and thus to thee,
Daughter of sunshine! doth the Syren sing.

“Thine is the glad wave’s flashing play,
Thine is the laugh of the golden day--
The golden day, and the glorious night,
And the vine with its clusters all bathed in light!
--Forget, forget, that thou art not free!
Queen of the Summer sea.

“Favour’d and crown’d of the earth and sky!
Thine are all voices of melody,
Wandering in moonlight through fane and tower,
Floating o’er fountain and myrtle bower;
Hark! how they melt o’er thy glittering sea--
Forget that thou art not free!

“Let the wine flow in thy marble halls!
Let the lute answer thy fountain-falls!
And deck thy feasts with the myrtle bough,
And cover with roses thy glowing brow!
Queen of the day and the summer sea,
Forget that thou art not free!”

So doth the Syren sing, while sparkling waves
Dance to her chant. But sternly, mournfully,
O city of the deep! from Sybil grots
And Roman tombs, the echoes of thy shore
Take up the cadence of her strain alone,
Murmuring--“Thou, art not free!”