The isles, volcano-born amid the sea, Served at their birth the crimes of the old world. The sorrowing exiles on these lonely rocks, Watched 'mid the waves their native land afar, Seeking to catch its perfumes in the air: And often, a long exile worn away, Sentence of sudden death arrived to show They were remember'd by their enemies.
O Earth! all bathed with blood and tears, yet never Hast thou ceased putting forth thy fruit and flowers; And hast thou then no pity for mankind? Can thy maternal breast receive again Their dust, and yet not throb? L. E. L.
Here Corinne paused for some moments. All her assembled hearers threw laurels and myrtle at her feet. The soft pure moonlight fell on her brow, and the breeze wantoned with her ringlets as if nature delighted to adorn her: she was so overpowered as she looked on the enchanting scene, and on Oswald, who shared this delicious eve with her, yet might not be thus near forever, that tears flowed from her eyes. Even the crowd, who had just applauded her so tumultuously, respected her emotion, and mutely awaited her words, which they trusted would make them participators in her feelings. She preluded for some time on her lyre, then, no longer dividing her song into stanzas, abandoned herself to the uninterrupted stream of verse.
Some memories of the heart, some women's manes Yet ask your tears. 'Twas at this very place, Massena,[5] that Cornelia kept till death Her noble mourning; Agrippina too Long wept Germanicus beside these shores. At length the same assassin who deprived Her of her husband found she was at last Worthy to follow him. And yonder isle[6] Saw Brutus and his Portia bid farewell.
Thus women loved of heroes have beheld The object perish which they so adored. Long time in vain they follow'd in their path; There came the hour when they were forced to part. Portia destroy'd herself; Cornelia clasp'd The sacred urn which answer'd not her cries; And Agrippina, for how many years! Vainly her husband's murderer defied. And wander'd here the wretched ones, like ghosts On wasted shores of the eternal stream, Sighing to reach the other far-off land. Did they not ask in their long solitude Of silence, of all nature, of the sky, Star-shining?--and from the deep sea, one sound, One only tone of the beloved voice They never more might hear.