Between the mountains and the sea,
Walled by the rock, fringed by the foam,
A valley stretches fair and free
Beneath the blue of heaven’s dome.
At rest in that fair valley lies
Saint Barbara, the beauteous maid;
Above her head the cloudless...
The skies are low, the winds are slow,
The woods are filled with autumn glory;
The mists are still on field and hill,
The brooklet sings its dreamy story.
I careless rove through glen and grove;
I dream by hill and copse and river;
Or in...
I
not by the ball or brand
Sped by a mortal hand,
Not by the lightning stroke
When fiery tempests broke,—
Not mid the ranks of War
Fell the great Conqueror.
II
Unmovëd, undismayed,
In the crash and carnage of the cannonade...
