Still, Corinne desired that Oswald should once more hear her, as on the day at the Capitol. If the talent with which Heaven had gifted her was about to be extinguished forever, she wished its last rays to shine on him she loved: these very fears afforded her the inspiration she required. Her friends were impatient to hear her. Even the common people knew her fame; and, as imagination rendered them judges of poetry, they closed silently round, their eager faces expressing the deepest attention. The moon arose; but the last beams of day still paled her light. From the top of the small hill that, standing over the sea, forms the Cape of Micena, Vesuvius is plainly seen, and the bay and isles that stud its bosom. With one consent, the friends of Corinne begged her to sing the memories that scene recalled. She tuned her lyre, and began with a broken voice. Her look was beautiful; but one who knew her, as Oswald did, could there read the trouble of her soul. She strove, however, to restrain her feelings; and once more, if but for awhile, to soar above her personal situation.
CORINNE'S CHANT IN THE VICINITY OF NAPLES.
Ay, Nature, History, and Poesie, Rival each other's greatness;--here the eye Sweeps with a glance, all wonders and all time. A dead volcano now, I see thy lake Avernus, with the fear-inspiring waves, Acheron, and Phlégeton boiling up With subterranean flame: these are the streams Of that old hell Æneas visited.
Fire, the devouring life which first creates The world which it consumes, struck terror most When least its laws were known.--Ah! Nature then Reveal'd her secrets but to Poetry.
The town of Cuma and the Sibyl's cave, The temple of Apollo mark'd this height; Here is the wood where grew the bough of gold. The country of the Æneid is around; The fables genius consecrated here Are memories whose traces still we seek.
A Triton has beneath these billows plunged The daring Trojan, who in song defied The sea divinities: still are the rocks Hollow and sounding, such as Virgil told. Imagination's truth is from its power: Man's genius can create when nature's felt; He copies when he deems that he invents.
Amid these masses, terrible and old, Creation's witnesses, you see arise A younger hill of the volcano born: For here the earth is stormy as the sea, But doth not, like the sea, peaceful return Within its bounds: the heavy element, Upshaken by the tremulous abyss, Digs valleys, and rears mountains; while the waves, Harden'd to stone, attest the storms which rend Her depths; strike now upon the earth, You hear the subterranean vault resound. It is as if the ground on which we dwell Were but a surface ready to unclose. Naples! how doth thy country likeness bear To human passions; fertile; sulphurous: Its dangers and its pleasures both seem born Of those inflamed volcanoes, which bestow Upon the atmosphere so many charms, Yet bid the thunder growl beneath our feet.