05.05.2009, 18:34
WINTER IN THE RIVIERA OF GENOA.
Now the fair face of Nature is obscure ;
Ay, if 'tis ever, in this southern clime ;
Upon the mountain sits the cloud sublime ;
And incense to the Virgin dear and pure,
Ere the tumultuous seas he will endure,
And spread his sails, and to the topmast climb,
The ehipman offers. Tis the wintry time
When rich men crowd in cities ; and the poor
Kindle their fires of wreck along the coast;
Or in slow barges from Lavenza creep ;
Bearing her marble for proud Genoa's boast:
And still, at intervals, along the deep,
Dim trails of smoke arise, and then are lost,
Where steamers their rough way undaunted keep.
Now the fair face of Nature is obscure ;
Ay, if 'tis ever, in this southern clime ;
Upon the mountain sits the cloud sublime ;
And incense to the Virgin dear and pure,
Ere the tumultuous seas he will endure,
And spread his sails, and to the topmast climb,
The ehipman offers. Tis the wintry time
When rich men crowd in cities ; and the poor
Kindle their fires of wreck along the coast;
Or in slow barges from Lavenza creep ;
Bearing her marble for proud Genoa's boast:
And still, at intervals, along the deep,
Dim trails of smoke arise, and then are lost,
Where steamers their rough way undaunted keep.