Insulæ Fortunatæ
Metadata research and editing
DVPP Project Team
Kailey
Fukushima
University of Victoria Digital Victorian Periodical Poetry Project
Victoria, BC, Canada
In the public domain
Once a Week
3
6
138
62–63
They cease from
labour : care and toil,
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Set status to 'verified'.
Created pom_13714_incid_poem rendition to reset font-sizes.
Added useful rendition elements in anticipation of CSS reworking.
Marking specific renditions as incidental.
Resolved initial-letter CSS into explicit rendition + hi elements using XSLT.
Handle base cases of incidental titles.
Re-organized change elements in descending date order.
Assigned dominant rhyme-scheme value to poem div using automated XSLT.
Removed catRef with target="dvpp:illustrationNone", now obsolete.
Set status to 'proofed'. Tweaked rhyme types.
Insulæ Fortunatæ
.
They cease from
labour : care and toil,
The changing chance of changing day,
The battle roar around the spoil,
Are things that have been—passed away.
They cease from labour : peace and rest,
A summer sky that always smiles,
An endless song, an endless feast,
Awaft them in the Blessed Isles.
There long to rest them there to walk
In careless round where fancy leads ;
There, lapped in rich content, to talk
Of prowess old, and famous deeds,
Still the moon’s circles wax and wane,
And still the morning follows night—
As when, o’er Ilion’s breezy plain,
The daily dawn brought daily fight.
The feathered palms, long shadowed, wave
Above the forest, tall and proud :
So, some to slay some to save
They towered once above the crowd.
There rest the heroes—while the years,
Uncounted and unheeded, roll
There tell, untiring, how the spears
Flew thick, dividing corpse from soul,
There live—there die; nor pray for more
in not to lose these memories sweet ;
Nor look for news from any shore,
Nor other pleasure hope to meet.
There live—there rest ; but sometimes sit
When tiny ripples crisp the sand ;
When curlews call, it,
And sea-salt breezes fan the land—
With faces Eastward : there lay Troy ;
Ida reared her rugged hills ;
There war brought death, and war brought joy,
Beside those tiny sister rills.
They sit lamenting. “ Isle of Heaven,
What hast thou half so sweet as life ?
What Western breeze was ever given,
So warm as breath of maid and wife ?”
We lie and talk of things that were,
When life was young and blood was strong.
“ ’Twas better, better there than here
But time was brief—and this is long.”
So whisper, mournful, while the line
Of rolling breakers mocks their grief ;
And, inland, moans the tropic pine ;
And far off gleams the angry reef.