CARROLL RYAN

O, BELLA fior del mondo!to-morrowI'll leave thee to follow the path of the sun,No more to return, yet departing in sorrow—The stranger may go as the stranger hath done.I've met the hot breath of the scorching sirocAs I guarded thy ramparts that frown on the sea,I've lain 'neath the shade of the vine-covered rockWeaving bright fancies of glory and thee....Old Notabile[A]stands upon a hillWith olive groves and vineyards at its base,Its lofty wall, half-ruined, beareth stillOf siege and battle many a cruel trace;The centre of this lovely isle,—The home of song and story,—Whose tranquil beauty seems to smileForgetful of its glory.Deserted streets of marble halls,And temples grand and olden,Where startled Echo rarely callsStrange sounds thro' sunlight golden:High convent walls in ivy wrapt,Shrines of our blessed Lady,In melancholy silence lapt,In lanes of cypress shady.And now and thenQueer aged menPass where the bastions moulder,And seem to me,So strange they be,Old as the place or older.And carved in stone above each doorIs many a knightly crest,That flamed in hostile fields of yore—But now the sparrow's nest.The wingëd hand still grasps the swordBefore the ancient palace;In dungeons underneath is storedVerdala's burning chalice.And Bellfiorè's ruined wallFrowns on the peasant's labor,While from its brow strange echoes callOf song, and pipe, and tabor.Oh! what a host of shadows waitBefore yon dark unopened gate;Heroes from the east and west,In their iron armor drest,The white cross gleaming on each breast;Stern warriors of the cross are they—Those shadows of a former day!But hark!In the darkThe bells are tolling,While, up from the Levant,The night cloud is rolling.O, those bells! those Malta bells,Loudly, wildly ringing,High their deafening chorus swells,All my spirit winging.Now higher, higher,The iron choirLike tongues of fireFrom earth ascend;The wide air beating,Their notes repeating,Like spirits meetingThey rise and blend!Now coming softlyFrom belfrys loftySweet silver voices float thro' the gloom,Then, loud as thunder,From Cassels underRush sounds of wonderAs if from the tomb!They cease, and slowly from afar,Where Dhingli's vale reposes,I hear a voice and see a starThat beams on paths of roses!

O, BELLA fior del mondo!to-morrow

I'll leave thee to follow the path of the sun,

No more to return, yet departing in sorrow—

The stranger may go as the stranger hath done.

I've met the hot breath of the scorching siroc

As I guarded thy ramparts that frown on the sea,

I've lain 'neath the shade of the vine-covered rock

Weaving bright fancies of glory and thee....

Old Notabile[A]stands upon a hillWith olive groves and vineyards at its base,Its lofty wall, half-ruined, beareth stillOf siege and battle many a cruel trace;The centre of this lovely isle,—The home of song and story,—Whose tranquil beauty seems to smileForgetful of its glory.Deserted streets of marble halls,And temples grand and olden,Where startled Echo rarely callsStrange sounds thro' sunlight golden:High convent walls in ivy wrapt,Shrines of our blessed Lady,In melancholy silence lapt,In lanes of cypress shady.And now and thenQueer aged menPass where the bastions moulder,And seem to me,So strange they be,Old as the place or older.And carved in stone above each doorIs many a knightly crest,That flamed in hostile fields of yore—But now the sparrow's nest.The wingëd hand still grasps the swordBefore the ancient palace;In dungeons underneath is storedVerdala's burning chalice.And Bellfiorè's ruined wallFrowns on the peasant's labor,While from its brow strange echoes callOf song, and pipe, and tabor.Oh! what a host of shadows waitBefore yon dark unopened gate;Heroes from the east and west,In their iron armor drest,The white cross gleaming on each breast;Stern warriors of the cross are they—Those shadows of a former day!

Old Notabile[A]stands upon a hill

With olive groves and vineyards at its base,

Its lofty wall, half-ruined, beareth still

Of siege and battle many a cruel trace;

The centre of this lovely isle,—

The home of song and story,—

Whose tranquil beauty seems to smile

Forgetful of its glory.

Deserted streets of marble halls,

And temples grand and olden,

Where startled Echo rarely calls

Strange sounds thro' sunlight golden:

High convent walls in ivy wrapt,

Shrines of our blessed Lady,

In melancholy silence lapt,

In lanes of cypress shady.

And now and then

Queer aged men

Pass where the bastions moulder,

And seem to me,

So strange they be,

Old as the place or older.

And carved in stone above each door

Is many a knightly crest,

That flamed in hostile fields of yore—

But now the sparrow's nest.

The wingëd hand still grasps the sword

Before the ancient palace;

In dungeons underneath is stored

Verdala's burning chalice.

And Bellfiorè's ruined wall

Frowns on the peasant's labor,

While from its brow strange echoes call

Of song, and pipe, and tabor.

Oh! what a host of shadows wait

Before yon dark unopened gate;

Heroes from the east and west,

In their iron armor drest,

The white cross gleaming on each breast;

Stern warriors of the cross are they—

Those shadows of a former day!

But hark!In the darkThe bells are tolling,While, up from the Levant,The night cloud is rolling.O, those bells! those Malta bells,Loudly, wildly ringing,High their deafening chorus swells,All my spirit winging.

But hark!

In the dark

The bells are tolling,

While, up from the Levant,

The night cloud is rolling.

O, those bells! those Malta bells,

Loudly, wildly ringing,

High their deafening chorus swells,

All my spirit winging.

Now higher, higher,The iron choirLike tongues of fireFrom earth ascend;The wide air beating,Their notes repeating,Like spirits meetingThey rise and blend!Now coming softlyFrom belfrys loftySweet silver voices float thro' the gloom,Then, loud as thunder,From Cassels underRush sounds of wonderAs if from the tomb!

Now higher, higher,

The iron choir

Like tongues of fire

From earth ascend;

The wide air beating,

Their notes repeating,

Like spirits meeting

They rise and blend!

Now coming softly

From belfrys lofty

Sweet silver voices float thro' the gloom,

Then, loud as thunder,

From Cassels under

Rush sounds of wonder

As if from the tomb!

They cease, and slowly from afar,Where Dhingli's vale reposes,I hear a voice and see a starThat beams on paths of roses!

They cease, and slowly from afar,

Where Dhingli's vale reposes,

I hear a voice and see a star

That beams on paths of roses!

[A]Citta Vecchia

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