MEMORIES OF ITALY 
 
 BY 
 
 A. G. H EATON. 
 
 WINTER OF 1881-1882. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 PRINTED FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTIOK. 
 
 1882. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 
 a^'g/heaton. 
 
 WINTER OF 1881-1882. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 PRINTED FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION. 
 
 1882. 
 

 Edition of 250 Copies. 
 
 PRESS OF HENRY B. ASHMEAD. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 
 I. 
 
 O fellow-pilgrims by indulgent fate ! 
 The days have come when we our paths must bend 
 From this fair kingdom where, in truth, so late 
 We came unknown, and part as friend from friend, 
 Ere mutual pleasures yet have reached an end. 
 And ere we kiss, alas! a different hand 
 Of beautiful Italia, and attend, 
 Too soon, departure from her spell-bound land. 
 Ye for the west, and I from bright Venetia's strand. 
 
 II. 
 
 As birds in spring-time taking northern flight 
 Pause for a while in some fair spot to rest, 
 So here in courtly Florence we alight 
 After too brief a day of chat and jest, 
 Of genial fellowship the parting test. 
 From Rome's beguiling streets and azure skies, 
 Spared from the perils which her gates invest, 
 To view Art's palaces which proudly rise, 
 Wedded, though Arno's flood between their glory lies. 
 
4 MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 
 III. 
 
 Brief is the sunny winter that has sped 
 Above us in our wanderings, yet how long 
 The devious course unwearied feet have led 
 Amid the valleys of the land of song ! 
 Amid each city's happy-natured throng, 
 The ruins of a world's immortal past. 
 The tombs of pleasure and the pomps of wrong 
 Which still to-day pathetically last 
 To teach forgetful men grim Destiny's forecast. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet, happily, men sadden not their days 
 With constant musing of the vague to be, 
 Saving the devots of exacting ways 
 Of duty and of penance, who would see 
 Sweet nature never from their bondage free; 
 But open hearts and healthy lives dispel 
 The gloom of doubt with youth's beguiling glee. 
 And music drowns the dull cathedral bell. 
 And dancing feet glide on in palace and in dell. 
 
 V. 
 
 With smiles for leisure, we were often fain, 
 In thoughtful mood, to seek the pious hill 
 Where broods the Mother Church in troubled reign. 
 The dictates of her once resistless will 
 Now challenged at her portals. Proudly still 
 Guards she the treasures of a sumptuous youth. 
 Seeking in stubborn doctrine to fulfill 
 Her self-appointed toil with little ruth 
 For broader sight of heaven in nature's living truth. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 VI. 
 
 How rare her riches and how Avisely gleaned 
 When she controlled the better minds of earth, 
 When rank and talent for her blessing leaned, 
 And Knowledge, sheltered from the outer death 
 In cloisters, gave so rare an offspring birth. 
 Art, then, persuaded by her lavish gold, 
 Mid sensual living glorified the worth 
 Of all that saintly multitude of old. 
 And her indulgence kind redeemed a hundred fold. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet one appeared a cardinal in right 
 Of Art's high faith. St. Peter's stately dome 
 And vaulted aisles bear witness of the might 
 Of Buonarotti's genius, finding home 
 In unknown regions, and beguiled to come 
 To earth and re-create his visions strange 
 In that high chapel, Titan-thronged, where roam 
 Men from the ends of earth, and strive to change 
 Vainly the humble mind to that great spirit's range. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 We chanced, upon another day, to walk 
 At leisure o'er the excavated field 
 Of Eome's forensic fame, and there to talk 
 (With due regard to all that Hare revealed) 
 About the dismal ruins, half concealed, 
 
 ■ Which weep the past, reluctant to remain ; 
 Their only service maiden-hair to yield 
 To maiden albums, while our heads a rain 
 
 Of pebbles ill endured from Eoman youth profane. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 
 humbled forum of a mighty age ! 
 If e'er, attesting God, the very stones 
 Had need to cry instead of men, thy page 
 Of ruined art in truth would raise its moans 
 For all man's misused sway, to which the groans 
 Of martyrs would be requiem. Like a grave 
 New opened, with its few and scattered bones 
 And funeral tributes, does thy presence crave 
 The tears of those who love but can no longer save. 
 
 X. 
 
 A lowly desert mid a city's poor. 
 The stranger only seeks thee to explore 
 For treasures unseen of the vagrant boor, 
 Found by the loadstone of beloved lore. 
 And traced with hallowed zeal upon the floor 
 Of that old battle-ground of wise and strong 
 Whose lonely shafts Art studies to adore,*" 
 And History points to. Time's drear way along, 
 Orations all in stone, or voiced with warrior's song. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Insatiate pride upon thy tortured plain 
 Has, at a word, made marble fanes aspire 
 In rival glory, rich in conquest's gain, 
 To, in a day, be crushed by vengeful ire. 
 Or in rebellion wrecked, or swept by fire 
 Of ruthless lords of men in giant strife. 
 Scorning a world to gratify desire. 
 Baring the breast of Virtue to the knife, 
 And making broken hearts their hour-glass of life. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 XII. 
 
 These are no more, and now a race in shame 
 Rises like one recovered from a spell 
 Of evil spirits to restore its fame, 
 And seeks to gather up the gems which fell 
 From its mad hands, to guard them high and well. 
 And clothe itself in garments made anew, 
 That, when the world its history doth tell, 
 It may with happy eyes the present view, 
 And deem past honors pledged to dignity more true. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yet is its mood not always thus sedate : 
 The Carnival arrives witli painted mask. 
 To scoff at grave ambition, and, elate. 
 Indulgence take which it would vainly ask 
 Of melancholy prelate, — irksome task 
 To thrust aside for unrestrained delight ; 
 Youth drinks but mirth from out the slender flask, 
 For daily frolic, and throughout the night 
 Th' unwearied dancers whirl in many a costume bright. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Corso, given up to pleasure's whim. 
 Yields Trade a captive bound in trappings gay ; 
 Rome's fairest faces overflow the rim 
 Of balconies unnumbered, and array 
 
 i A mimic war with men, a storm of clay 
 In whitened pellets pouring, or in flowers 
 Exchanging kinder token. Then the way 
 Is coursed by frightened steeds, or evening hours 
 
 See tapers oft blown out ere red lips seek their bowers. 
 
8 MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The gaudy chariots, ranged in bright parade, 
 Give end to pleasure, with the glow of fire 
 In many a rainbow hue subdued and made 
 The sport of men, as Samson, who in ire 
 Might, his true self, have swept with fury dire 
 The laughing throng before him. Thus the pride 
 And strength of soul that raise our natures higher 
 Must sometimes turn for witless mirth aside. 
 And of the respite gain an end at first denied. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Now from the spell of Rome's eternal walls 
 Turn thou, my muse, a little while away 
 To where the sun with warmer influence falls. 
 And Naples basks beside her opal bay. 
 Loquacious in her oft-time holiday — 
 Forgetful in the present of a past 
 That dreams about her, wheresoever may 
 The wondering vision turn, — a treasure vast 
 Of history and song in loveliest setting cast. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Her teeming streets betoken little heed 
 Of outward peace. A merry people strive 
 By fair or foul to quell their simple need 
 Mid mud and flowers. Scarce can fate deprive 
 (Their food the highway fringing), and, alive 
 To mirth and music, leaving to the sage 
 Or stranger all the treasures of that hive 
 Of despoiled cities of full many an age. 
 They joy in song and dance on famed St. Carlo's stage. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 XVIII. 
 
 Yet what a dread o'erhangs the Landscape fair, 
 And the wide city stretched beside the sea, 
 While that dark mountain cone in upper air 
 Pours its pale cloud !' As some, by sad decree, 
 Fear death may come e'en mid the banquet's glee 
 In demon-haunted spasm, as some may fear 
 A birth of shame, a poisoned cup, a tree 
 Of torture, so, from trembling year to year. 
 Men smile with aching heart lest awful doom be near, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Stern mountain ! it was on a cloudless night 
 When first we saw thee, and each tender star 
 About thy crest paled in the broader light 
 Of the full moon ; yet saw we from afar 
 Upon the azure sky a sulphurous bar — 
 Thy sullen throat evolving its own cloud 
 (E'en as grim sounds their self-made troubles mar). 
 And 'neath its folds the glow of fires avowed 
 Within thy burning breast to guilty penance bowed. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Ere many days, audacious we awoke 
 To scale thy black and life-accursing side. 
 Combating storms before our courage broke, 
 And naught of blissful vision was denied. 
 From Capri's purple rest to Naples' pride. 
 The vassal hills beyond, sweet vales between, 
 The shining sea where tiny vessels glide. 
 Each timid village mid its pastures green, — 
 All, as by angels' aid, in that bright hour were seen. 
 
10 MEMOHIES OF ITALY. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But underneath our feet a monster lay 
 Whose life was desolation. Though asleep, 
 His angry murmurs gave the soul dismay, 
 While, from his ashen jaws, adown the steep 
 A hemorrhage of fire pouring deep 
 Curdled in smoking folds upon his side. 
 A countless host of monsters, heap on heap, 
 Seemed mid some awful struggle petrified 
 In the gnarled crust of that o'erwhelming lava tide. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 As the grim octopus, that being dread 
 Of unknown ocean, near some sombre cave 
 Cone-like reposes, with his lifted head 
 Eying the waters, and a living grave 
 Hid in his gliding arms, whence naught may save 
 The hapless victim, so Vesuve doth wait. 
 Clutching anon the beautiful, the brave. 
 In its wide fiery streams insatiate ; 
 Fair fields and cities hid by swift remorseless fate. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Pompeii ! the distressing task is thine, 
 And thine, sweet Herculaneum ! to tell 
 The ages of disasters which enshrine 
 Your names forever. Terrors that befell 
 Your lives in few brief days, and made a hell 
 And then oblivion of your home delights — 
 A grave of all wherein'you loved to dwell. 
 Exchanging emulous hours for gleeful nights, 
 Till death the curtain drew and quenched the theatre lights. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 11 
 
 XXIY. 
 
 The mountain's wrath upon your glory came 
 In that dire time ; nor ever malice sped 
 Amid the gaps of error as the flame 
 Of lava to your banquet and your bed ; 
 Nor ever hath fierce tyranny o'erspread 
 The slave's scant joy as did the sombre pall 
 Of ashes drift on your distracted head, 
 With smothering horror merging wall to wall, 
 And whelming meekest age and weakest childhood all. 
 
 XX Y. 
 
 ^>ealed up alike from Time's corroding touch 
 And man's unhallowing need by will divine. 
 Your shroud is lifted now, nor men too much 
 May marvel at revealings which combine 
 To marshal jealous centuries in line, 
 And prove the human heart as still the same, 
 The brain as active then, the skill as fine, 
 For life's essential joy ; since Science came 
 That men might not lose hope from Art's declining fame. 
 
 XXYI. 
 
 Men marvel, for each thing of household use. 
 Each implement of toil or tradesman's need, 
 Of sport or skill or crafty war's abuse, 
 The artist's birth, the lawyer's blackened deed. 
 The baker's loaves, the farmer's varied seed. 
 All labor's products, countless in array. 
 Mock, to our gaze. Time's disappointed heed. 
 Raised, phcenix-like, from ashes to the day, 
 Where roofless walls yet vie in decoration gay. 
 
12 MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 But shop and temple, mill and rich abode, 
 Proud tomb and wheel-worn street, are all forgot 
 When we behold the sculptor's dextrous mode 
 Of casting nature's counterfeit, the lot 
 Of many a life revealing when the hot 
 And furious fall of ashes torture gave 
 To face and form crouched in some hapless spot 
 To find, unheard, uncomforted, a grave. 
 By gods renounced and man all powerless to save. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 little maiden prostrate on thy face, 
 Or thou, in tender hope of motherhood, 
 Thy ring-pledged hand in vain imploring grace. 
 Or thou, old man, in calm submissive mood 
 Lain down to final sleep, — what thought of good 
 In heaven was yours mid that last bitterness 
 Of broken love and life? The heart's hot blood 
 Throbs as we view ye with a strange distress. 
 For pity knows not time when claiming love's redress. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Faint echo this, Pompeii ! of thy woe ; 
 And of thy joy, words vainly may pursue 
 The flight of fancy, as enthralled we go 
 About thy streets and all thy life renew. 
 All doors are open now : where once the few 
 Sought favor, we can enter without fear ; 
 And where dwelt evil walk, remaining true ; 
 And where the poor, find not a pleader near. 
 And where the player trod, no ringing plaudits hear. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 13 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Yet, prostrate Herculaneum ! in thee, 
 Scarce half unburdened of the lava tide 
 Which scorched thy very heart, our feet were free 
 To pace a stage which tunnelled masses hide 
 From the once-smiling sky. Nor was denied 
 A tumult, but it was the smothered roar 
 Of heavenly thunderings mocking human pride, 
 Sounding the depths appallingly, till more 
 Our cavern seemed some dread plutonian corridor. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Gladly we sought, when that weird storm had passed, 
 The treasure-plundered ruins 'neath a town 
 Which jealously o'erlooks them. Fate has cast 
 Sadly their lot, and at her adverse frown. 
 E'en the blue sea, which, where yon steps run down, 
 The slender feet of many a maiden kissed 
 In brighter days, has fled. The past renown 
 Of marble courts some roses only list 
 To keep in fragrance sweet ere they too shall be missed. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 But do we these lost cities need to mourn. 
 Or clamor judgment? Theirs was but the way 
 Of all that blue sea's borders. They were born 
 Where Nature urges pleasure ere delay 
 Wither to age ; and but a brief dismay 
 Led them, complete, to an immortal reigii,*; 
 Unbowed but by the gods, with no decay 
 Of lingering years : their hourly life the gain 
 Of sages, — a bright tower on history's distant plain. 
 
14 MEMOEIES OF ITALY. 
 
 XXXIIT. 
 
 They did not die like Perseus, seeking doom, 
 Bravely supreme of soul, for other's sake, 
 Fame's loved ideal, nor in all the gloom 
 Of long-sustained adversity partake, 
 Scarce less, enduring, of the thoughts which make 
 Men heroes — oft unknown except above. 
 Np ! but in chance and sudden call to break 
 Life's treasure-box so ruthlessly, they move, 
 Light-hearted, ill-starred hosts, to sympathetic love. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 With less dramatic tale, wdiere Paestum stood, 
 In prosperous days, the southern coast along. 
 Three temples check the traveller as they brood 
 In calm and stoic dignity. The song 
 Of Grecian priests is ended, for the strong 
 Hath triumphed over beauty, save in these 
 Gray monumental stones which even wrong 
 Seem to forgive, in their deserted ease 
 Warmed by the genial sun and lulled by murmuring seas. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 From their repose we turned, and northward rode 
 The devious way of that enchanting shore 
 Where nymphs and mermaids well might have abode, 
 And poets find their muses evermore; 
 Amid the glens and cliffs where streamlets pour 
 Their tribute to the sea in white cascade, 
 Where vineyards cling above the breakers' roar, 
 And fisher hamlets scarce their foam evade, 
 Grateful in summer days for yon steep mountain's shade. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 15 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 There stretches calm Salerno, and beyond 
 Amalfi nestles, loveliest of the band 
 Of white-robed sisters who, serene and fond. 
 Watch that bright coast with tender hand in hand ; 
 Where once these ruined towers made their stand 
 With anxious vigil 'gainst piratic greed, 
 Lured by the bounty which no stern command 
 Of the brown sower prompted from the seed. 
 And wealth of fortune's sons from civic tumult freed. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Again we move, and leave Salerno's bay 
 And each fair haven loathfully behind, 
 Castellamare seeking, and away 
 To charmed Sorrento, where abruptly wind 
 Great ridges to the sea, and hold confined 
 In loved embrace that refuge pledged to peace 
 From dread Vesuvius, distantly defined 
 Across the wave, and Naples' gay surcease. 
 That spot where Tasso's muse ecstatic found release. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 O lovely scene ! it is a joy to live 
 Before thy influence. The pulse again 
 Beats to victorious march, and memories give 
 Enthrallment to each spot which owns the reign 
 Of happy Naples, waiting in her train 
 Each with some tribute of her glorious past ; 
 Each in its own bright beauty robed to gain 
 The pilgrim's homage, here by fortune cast. 
 Who counts all perils light while such bcguilements last. 
 
16 MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 The hills are set with gardens, — as with gems 
 A queen's tiara, — where serene await 
 The vacant halls of kings. Free pleasure stems 
 The wayward tide to, hy the ocean gate, 
 Rest on those purple isles that float in state, 
 Swan-like, before the zephyr or the gale — 
 Fair Ischia and Capri, willed by fate 
 To yield the way to many a conqueror's sail ; 
 For Naples so beguiled, defence had light avail. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Phoenicians here, and Greeks, in ancient days 
 Drove their adventurous galleys to the shore ; 
 Resistless Rome possessed these lovely bays 
 And held patrician pomp ; the Spaniard bore 
 With haughty rule, forgetful of the Moor, 
 Upon the careless people ; but withal. 
 Peace wrought her crowns, surpassing those of war. 
 Blessed by the muses, whose seductive call 
 Drew an immortal line to Fame's unblazoned hall. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 What voice would venture to declaim the scroll 
 Which that charmed touch illumes ? to fitly sing 
 Not merely from the ostentatious roll 
 Of vaunted warrior, emperor or king. 
 In gilded armor passing, but to bring 
 The shade of Cicero to earth again, 
 Of learned Pliny, or to turn the wing 
 Of Virgil's spirit and of Dante's pain? 
 Appalled, my muse but dwells on one fair woman's reign ; 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 17 
 
 XLII. 
 
 — Vittoria Colonna, on whose head 
 A crown of stars is shining in her praise. 
 Her guileless youth, in highest culture led, 
 Abused not those proud dignities that raise 
 The dizzy mind from truth, or knew the maze 
 Conceit devises beauty to ensnare. 
 Love gave her noble heart no rude delays, 
 But with her childhood her Pescaro rare 
 Entered its priceless faith and learned a world to dare. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 He rose a hero in his nation's wars, 
 And died, and with him all love's fever fled 
 From her deep heart forever, while his scars 
 In it had faithful counterpart, and bled 
 Through nights of childless grief. Then calmly spread 
 A cohort from the soul, aggressive armed 
 For noble deeds. Her ardent genius sped 
 To its high purpose, and a world was charmed 
 By that exotic verse which her pure love embalmed. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 And not alone the riches of her song, 
 But her wide influence took a fuller grace. 
 All men were awed by genius which no wrong 
 Was kindred to, which sought with loyal face 
 Exalted natures only for a place 
 In her loved audience, which meekly bent 
 To cheer the crippled children in life's race, 
 And dared to use all power by heaven sent 
 To strip bedecked deceit from prosperous sin's intent. 
 
18 MEMORIES OF ITALY. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 By the keen eye of virtue she discerned 
 With noble welcome each regard sincere 
 That pierced the mists of life, and bravely spurned 
 Those covert natures, disappointed, drear, 
 Which foster intrigue but at friendship sneer, 
 Unfitted for its benediction sweet, 
 Lacking the grace by which her voice could cheer 
 Alike the poor and outcast of the street. 
 Or weary souls whom men with ostentation greet. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Of such was Michael Angelo, whose age 
 Eepelled, disdainful, malice-poisoned blame, 
 . Nor heeded witless praise : an august sage 
 In Art's wide realm, whose dignity of fame 
 Set narrow hearts aside. Colonna came 
 With nature fitted his great soul to know, 
 Eevering aspiration more than name 
 Or mighty handiwork, — as comes the glow 
 Of sunset on vast cliffs which then their glory show. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 In her, ideal grace of heart and mind 
 Adorned ideal presence, and dispelled, 
 By guileless mirth and fancy unconfined 
 And noble thought, the doubt his spirit held 
 If worldly lusts and sophistries had quelled 
 All loveliness of nature evermore. 
 She gently smiled, and that true friendship swelled 
 Life's stream beyond the chilling years it bore. 
 And flowers of peace renewed their perfume on its shore. 
 
MEMORIES OF ITALY. 19 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 In such high presence let my muse repose 
 Upon the scenes which Memory surveys : 
 They fitly bring all glories to a close, 
 They fitly end the throng that Fame arrays ; 
 — One the high chief of art, whose genius plays 
 With its fine snares and obstacles, and one 
 Italia's truest loveliness portrays, 
 As if in her fair womanhood alone 
 Nature would challenge all ideal Art had done. 
 
1 TRRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
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