BETA

The Campagna.

A wide green world, that rests, as children
rest,1
In the broad flooding of the unshadowed
day2
And when the long rays redden from the
west.3
As on the evenness of some lulled bay4
The winged and sudden night drops
down and broods,5
Or the white moon-tracks slowly shift their
ray.6
And when grey dawn floats o’er the level
roods7
It has but changed, not broken, their
repose ;8
Not theirs the morning whispers of the
woods ;9
Not theirs, when all the broken east is rose,10
Where the new sun has burst into his
sky,11
The answering beacons of the mountain
glows.12
A calm of loveliness is where they lie,13
A speech of silence, and the hush that
stills,14
And the deep impulse of monotony.15
On to the olive slopes and crag-bound hills,16
On to the sea-like margins of blue air,17
Their world spreads forth beyond the world
it fills,18
Lifting the sight past beauty that is there19
To a far dream, unshapen, that seems
more,20
To a far hope or memory, who knows where ?21
So, while we rest upon a tide-lapped shore,22
The immeasureable reaches of the main23
Bear thought past thought to some dim
home before,24
To some new world dim longings seek in
vain,25
The land that seems deep space’s hidden
bourne,26
The goal of thy wide wastes, thou glorious
plain.27
Clothe thee in beauty ruin has not worn28
Nor all the change and sadness of
decline,29
Clothe thee in brightness ; nature cannot
mourn.30
Thou hast forgot the cities that were thine,31
The palaces of rest amid their groves,32
The farmstead, and the village, and the
shrine.33
What grief to thee if, where the stray herd
roves34
Trampling the lavish grass, stood homes
of men,35
And wheat-fields in the flats the curlew
loves ?36
What grief to thee ?  Long summers clothe
the fen37
And scatter blossom on the fallow
mead ;38
Fair in thy past thou art more fair than
then.39
Yet musing eyes, that hold thee, voidly heed40
The waving corn long-rusted sickles
felled,41
The walls long crumbled that outlived their
need,42
Heed all thou holdest not, but once hast
held,43
The rustic wealth, the monumental piles,44
The pomps, the miseries, of dead days of eld.45
Oh, ancient plain amid thy thousand smiles,46
A sister sky respondent from below,47
Greenness beneath the blueness miles and
miles,48
Thy soil has whilom sucked the red blood’s
flow,49
War-cries and groans have mingled in
thy heaven,50
Then stillness and the rest of foe by foe.51
Rapines have torn thee, shrieking crowds
been driven,52
Forth from the flaming roofs, along thy
ways,53
Forth from the city razed, the fastness riven.54
Thy homes have known pale doubt, and
wolfish frays,55
The secret poison, and the despot’s
crime,56
And tongues that trembled in the murderer’s
praise.57
In thy far glories of an ancient prime,58
How hast thou been betrod by flagging
feet59
Of hopeless captives from an alien clime !60
Oh gaze of loathing eyes that strain to meet61
The first grey glimpse of awful Rome
descried !62
Oh hearts that beat, then almost ceased to
beat !63
Ah well !  But there went joyous stir be-
side ;64
On to their Rome they passed and
Rome’s acclaim,65
The victor legions in their soldier pride.66
And even then through tombs. Yet not the
same.67
Lo ! torn and empty walls, rent marbles
near ;68
Lo ! builded heaps that bear no more a name.69
This was the dead’s immortal street : from
here70
Stretched the twin lines of envied
sepulchres71
And told them to the world, great, rever-
enced, dear.72
Rome’s proudest street : leagues from her
barriers73
Measured by heroes’ names ; and, jour-
neying home,74
Each coming step passed some renown of
hers.75
But long since did the shapeless tombs
become76
The desolate monument of one dead
thing,77
And that dead thing the greatness once
called Rome.78
And Rome laughs in the sunshine of the
spring79
And crowns her hills with new-made
homes a-row80
And wears her ruins for adornment ring.81
Thou knowest it not, slumbering around her
so,82
Enfolding her with thy soft poisonous
breath—83
Thou yet to-day her beauty and her woe,84
For lo ! thy living fairness covers death :85
Like the bright clinging robe of magic
tales86
Blasting the limbs that it encompasseth,87
Like sweet enchanted singing in the vales88
To bind the lingerer into lethic sleep,89
A trance of music till the sick sense fails,90
So thou, bright treachery. Patient centuries
keep91
The story of the uneventful dead,92
Thy harvest thou hast given death to reap.93
Oh, thou hast forfeit for thy glories fled—94
Laxed hands, wanned lips, the fever’s
stealthy haste,95
Scared women’s desolate tears too early shed.96
Rome’s deadliest enemy beside her placed !97
Oh, thou fair silence, long avenged too
much,98
Thou art avenged on man that leaves thee
waste.99
Ay, leaves thee waste ; and yet, to leave
thee such100
Seems as to give our lives one perfect
gift,101
Largeness and calm, ra from man’s busy
touch.102
Forth, forth, o’er thy green infinite let me
drift,103
Fill me with resting, thou still left so
fair,104
Thou that the roofs must hide, the plough-
share rift.105
Some morrow thou shalt be the trader’s care,106
Shalt be, thou too, toil’s mapped and
meted ground,107
Here grow trim crops, here see the loom-
mills stare.108
Thy silence shall be haste and eager sound ;109
Where in thy paths the wanderer’s foot
is strange110
Brisk tramears shall go plying on their
round ;111
Thy wilds shall be a set and peopled range—112
Highways, and dykes, and fields behind
the wall.113
Well, since the change is
the change.114
And surely eyes that can perceive the all115
Shall see a beauty in thy human good116
More than to watch the light and shadow
fall.117
And lo ! thy sunny hills, the hills that stood118
Guarding the shepherd deserts ere Rome
grew,119
That so will guard thee shaped to modern
mood ;120
And lo ! thy boundless heaven’s deep limpid
blue,121
Thy big untrembling stars : thou couldst
not seem,122
Ever, so staled but these should make thee
new.123
Ah well !  That morrow shall be fair, I
deem,124
That is to waken. thee : God speed the
change :125
But yet—Oh fill my dreaming, perfect dream.126
Augusta Webster.