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THE DEAD REPUBLIC OF RAGUSA.
O DEAD Republic ! Gloom and dust
Yet once thy sails on every sea
E’en to the globe's remotest parts
Thy poets from thy people sprang
In splendour lonely and forlorn
THE STONY WAY.
AND now the time grew ripe, and, sword in hand,
Now we fell,
But the moon Came stealing from behind a gloomy cloud, And wooëd us onward.
'Tis enchanted land ! I see it still. It floats before mine eyes By day and night ; a region strange, forlorn, Titanic, awful, full of mysteries !
NIGHT IN THE HERZEGOVINA.
A WILDERNESS of stone! The deep ravines
Lie stern and naked 'neath the moon's pale light : And mighty barriers, gigantic screens,
Frown on the wanderer from every height.
No blade of grass nor any green is here,
Save on a crag one starving olive tree : The torrents into caverns disappear,
Or hasten, moaning, downward to the sea.
The shepherd homeward to the fold his flock
Leads to the crooning of his rustic reed : The goats bound airily from rock to rock,
And gambol where our human feet would bleed.