Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ISOLA COMACINA, by JOHN LAWSON STODDARD Poet's Biography First Line: There sleeps beneath italian skies Last Line: May all the gods be good to thee! Subject(s): Future; Islands; Italy; Past; Italians | ||||||||
There sleeps beneath Italian skies A lovely island rich in fame, In days of old a longed-for prize, And bearing still an honored name, -- A spot renowned from age to age, An ancient Roman heritage; A valued stronghold, for whose sake Unnumbered men have fought and died, -- The Malta of the Larian lake, Forever armed and fortified, To Como's shores the master-key, The guardian of its liberty. Half hidden in a sheltered bay, Where tiny skiffs at anchor ride, How different is the scene to-day Reflected in its waveless tide, From that which this historic foss Showed mailed soldiers of the Cross! Yet still, across the narrow strait, Some remnants of the hospice stand, Whose ever hospitable gate Met pilgrims from the Holy Land, Its finely carved, millennial tower Enduring to the present hour. One gem alone doth Como wear, None other need adorn her breast; 'Tis this, her emerald solitaire, Her unique island of the blest, -- The star beside her crescent shore, A thing of beauty evermore. On Comacina's peaceful strand The coldest heart is moved to pray, As softly steals o'er lake and land The splendor of departing day, And scores of snowy peaks aspire To sparkle with supernal fire. Then Lario paints for liquid miles The white-robed monarchs' glittering crowns, Transmutes at once to dimpled smiles The sternest of their glacial frowns, And often holds, with subtlest art, Some Titan's likeness to her heart. Fair Comacina, through whose trees Earth's feathered songsters flit unharmed, Where soft-eyed cattle graze at ease, And every whispering breeze seems charmed, Can it be true that human blood Hath ever stained thy limpid flood? Alas! too often, drenched with gore, Thy cliffs have witnessed deadly strife, When hostile feet profaned thy shore, And each advancing step cost life, As prince and peasant, side by side, Beat back the Goths' invading tide. But why disturb the silent past? Why rouse the island's sleeping ghosts? Or see in forms by ruins cast The phantoms of those warlike hosts? For centuries the gentle waves Have rolled oblivion o'er their graves. And what will now thy future be, Thou pristine refuge of the brave, Which Rome's last heroes fought to free, And vainly gave their lives to save? Forget not, thou wast once a gem That graced a Caesar's diadem! Wilt thou fulfil my fondest hopes? I sometimes long to check the stream Of tourists hurrying by thy slopes, And tell them of my cherished dream, -- To see upon thy storied height A palace worthy of the site; Not meaningless, not merely vast, Nor crudely modern in design, But something suited to thy past, -- For highest art a hallowed shrine, A classic home of long ago, The Tusculum of Cicero. Then roses, rich in sweet perfume, Shall wreathe with bloom each terraced wall, And, scattered through the leafy gloom Of olive-groves and laurels tall, Shall many a marble nymph and faun Grow lovelier from the flush of dawn. So let me dream! I may not see That stately palace crown thy brow, Those roses may not bloom for me, But, as thou art, I love thee now, Content thy future to resign To abler portraiture than mine. Sweet Comacina, fare thee well! Across the water's placid breast The music of the vesper-bell Invites me to my port of rest; Fair jewel of this inland sea, May all the gods be good to thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...1851: A MESSAGE TO DENMARK HILL by RICHARD HOWARD TONIGHT THE HEART-SHAPED LEAVES by JAN HELLER LEVI JEWISH GRAVEYARDS, ITALY by PHILIP LEVINE SAILING HOME FROM RAPALLO by ROBERT LOWELL SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW by LISEL MUELLER HOW DUKE VALENTINE CONTRIVED by BASIL BUNTING FRAGMENTS FROM ITALY: 1 by JOHN CIARDI A MAY MONODY by JOHN LAWSON STODDARD |
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