In Memory of the Destruction of Messina by Earthquake
Sicilian Muse! O thou who sittest dumb
Amid the sodden fields and ways forlorn,
Where once the herdsmen singing, watched their kine
Breast-deep in fragrance, odorous eve and morn;
Stranger to thee, yet led by love I come,
A suppliant sable-stoled, to mix with thine
My tears, and at thy shrine
Kindle a funeral torch for Sicily:
Now fails the song, and down the lonely ways
The last low echoes die upon the breeze.
I lay my lyre upon the moveless knees
Of her who by the hollow roadway stays,
In anguish waiting for her children slain
That shall not come again
With springtime, leading the new lambs to graze.
They come no more; but while o’er hill and plain
The twilight darkens, and the evening rose
Aloft on
(Louis V Ledoux)
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