All on the open shore,—the Yale, the peerless Bay,
Ten miles of beauty, broad and soft, in his eye reflected lay;
But the Father there saw nothing, but only the tender guest
That, yet nor boy nor girl, played bo-peep within his vest.
A noble frame and strong, limbs of health's firmest mould,
The Father, propped against the bank, gave the proud earth to hold;
The arm that lay beneath his head, the hand that looped the Ass,
Had widened him a road, methinks, where he had willed to pass.
But the Child, ah, fragile creature! the riband's scarlet gleam
Fell into its pale cheek as a shadow in a stream.
Seraph, half-unfleshed already! with the glimmer of the day
Will it not fall to shade, to air, thin out, and pass away?
And this the seed of such a Sire? Could Love no more than this,
When all the soul stretched all the flesh to span the fruitful bliss?
What poison held thy manly strength? What spell besate the hour?
Behold, the oak a lily breeds, the tree begets a flower!
Ah, mutual bondage of true love! Ah, spiritual sway
That guides the blinder sense on its Heaven-appointed way!
What do not thy pale cheeks, child, thy puny limbs impart
Of the feeble girl who overcame thy father's lusty heart?
Beautiful to see and think how the power of heart and mind
Can lead the lion passions and the savage pulse of kind!
How the weak subdues the strong, yea, the foolish bends the wise
By the might of a pure nature, or a pair of pretty eyes?
All his Beata left him, may the breeze make fresh and gay,
Thine airy cheek! I tell thee, thou must not pass away!
Single trophy of his single love, he clasps thee to his soul;
'Tis through Thee, Child, Heaven and Earth to him are made into a whole.
Romagnuolo, 1845.