DRIFTING.

Original

MY soul to-day

Is far away

Sailing the Vesuvian Bay;

My wingéd boat,

A bird afloat,

Swims round the purple peaks remote:—

ROUND purple peaks

It sails, and seeks

Blue inlets and their crystal creeks,

Where high rocks throw,

Through deeps below,

A duplicated golden glow.

Original

Original

FAR, vague, and dim,

The mountains swim;

While on Vesuvius' misty brim,

With outstretched hands,

The gray smoke stands

O'erlooking the volcanic lands.

IN lofty lines,

'Mid palms and pines,

And olives, aloes, elms, and vines,

Sorrento swings

On sunset wings,

Where Tasso's spirit soars and sings.

Original

Original

I HEED not, if

My rippling skiff

Float swift or slow from cliff to

cliff;—

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise.

Under the walls

Where swells and falls

The Bay's deep breast at intervals.

Original

At peace I lie,

Blown softly by,

A cloud upon this liquid sky.

The day, so mild,

Is Heaven's own child,

With Earth and Ocean reconciled;—

The airs I feel

Around me steal

Are murmuring to the murmuring keel.

OVER the rail

My hand I trail

Within the shadow of the sail,

A joy intense,

The cooling sense

Glides down my drowsy indolence.

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Original

Original

THE fisher's child,

With tresses wild,

Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled,

With glowing lips

Sings as she skips,

Or gazes at the far-off ships.

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Original

Original

Original

HAPPY ship,

To rise and dip,

With the blue crystal at your lip!

O happy crew,

My heart with you

anew!

NO more, no more

The worldly shore

Upbraids me with its loud uproar

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise!

Original