Lake Como

Winter on the mountains      Summer on the shore,     The robes of sun-gleams woven,      The lake's blue wavelets wore.     Cold, white, against the heavens,      Flashed winter's crown of snow,     And the blossoms of the spring-tide      Waved brightly far below.     The mountain's head was dreary,      The cold and cloud were there,     But the mountain's feet were sandaled      With flowers of beauty rare.     And winding thro' the mountains      The lake's calm wavelets rolled,     And a cloudless sun was gilding      Their ripples with its gold.     Adown the lake we glided      Thro' all the sunlit day;     The cold snows gleamed above us,      But fair flowers fringed our way     The snows crept down the mountain,      The flowers crept up the slope,     Till they seemed to meet and mingle,      Like human fear and hope.     But the same rich, golden sunlight      Fell on the flowers and snow,     Like the smile of God that flashes      On hearts in joy or woe.     And on the lake's low margin      The trees wore stoles of green,     While here and there, amid them,      A convent cross was seen.     Anon a ruined castle,      Moss-mantled, loomed in view,     And cast its solemn shadow      Across the water's blue.     And chapel, cot, and villa,      Met here and there our gaze,     And many a crumbling tower      That told of other days.     And scattered o'er the waters      The fishing boats lay still,     And sound of song so softly      Came echoed from the hill.     At times the mountain's shadow      Fell dark across the scene,     And veiled with veil of purple      The wavelets' silver sheen.     But for a moment only      The lake would wind, and lo!     The waves would near the glory      Of the sunlight's brightest glow.     At times there fell a silence      Unbroken by a tone,     As if no sound of voices      Had ever there been known.     Through strange and lonely places      We glided thus for hours;     We saw no other faces      But the faces of the flowers.     The shores were sad and lonely      As hearts without a love,     While darker and more dreary      The mountains rose above.     But sudden round a headland      The lake would sweep again,     And voices from a village      Would meet us with their strain.     Thus all the day we glided,      Until the Vesper bell     Gave to the day, at sunset,      Its sweet and soft farewell.     Then back again we glided      Upon our homeward way,     When twilight wrapped the waters      And the mountains with its gray.     But brief the reign of twilight,      The night came quickly on;     The dark brow o'er the mountains,      Star-wreathed, brightly shone.     And down thro' all the shadows      The star-gleams softly crept,     And kissed, with lips all shining,      The wavelets ere they slept.     The lake lay in a slumber,      The shadows for its screen,     While silence waved her sceptre      Above the sleeping scene.     The spirit of the darkness      Moved, ghost-like, everywhere;     Wherever starlight glimmered,      Its shadow, sure, fell there.     The lone place grew more lonely,      And all along our way     The mysteries of the night-time      Held undisputed sway.     Thro' silence and thro' darkness      We glided down the tide     That wound around the mountains      That rose on either side.     No eyes would close in slumber      Within our little bark;     What charmed us so in daylight      So awed us in the dark.     Upon the deck we lingered,      A whisper scarce was heard;     When hearts are stirred profoundest,      Lips are without a word.     "Let's say the Chaplet," softly      A voice beside me spake.     "Christ walked once in the darkness      Across an Eastern lake,     "And to-night we know the secret      That will charm Him to our side:     If we call upon His Mother,      He will meet us on the tide."     So we said the beads together,      Up and down the little bark;     And I believe that Jesus met us,      With His Mother, in the dark.     And our prayers were scarcely ended      When, on mountain-top afar,     We beheld the morning meeting      With the night's last fading star.     And I left the lake; but never      Shall the years to come efface     From my heart the dream and vision      Of that strange and lonely place.     ____     February 1, 1873.