It is the calm and silent night! 
A thousand bells ring out, and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
The darkness—­charmed and holy now! 
The night that erst no name had worn,
To it a happy name is given;
For in that stable lay, new-born,
The peaceful prince of earth and heaven,
In the solemn midnight,
      Centuries ago!

    —­Alfred Dommett

ROMAN GIRL’S SONG

Rome, Rome! thou art no more
  As thou hast been! 
On thy seven hills of yore
  Thou satt’st a queen.

Thou hadst thy triumphs then
  Purpling the street,
Leaders and sceptred men
  Bow’d at thy feet.

They that thy mantle wore,
  As gods were seen—­
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
  As thou hast been!

Rome! thine imperial brow
  Never shall rise: 
What hast thou left thee now?—­
  Thou hast thy skies!

Blue, deeply blue, they are,
  Gloriously bright! 
Veiling thy wastes afar,
  With color’d light.

Thou hast the sunset’s glow,
  Rome, for thy dower,
Flushing tall cypress bough,
  Temple and tower!

And all sweet sounds are thine,
  Lovely to hear,
While night, o’er tomb and shrine
  Rests darkly clear.

Many a solemn hymn,
  By starlight sung,
Sweeps through the arches dim,
  Thy wrecks among.

Many a flute’s low swell,
  On thy soft air
Lingers, and loves to dwell
  With summer there.

Thou hast the south’s rich gift
  Of sudden song—­
A charmed fountain, swift,
  Joyous and strong.

Thou hast fair forms that move
  With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
  Thy mighty dead.

Yet wears thy Tiber’s shore
  A mournful mien: 
Rome, Rome!  Thou art no more
  As thou hast been!

    —­Mrs. Hemans

CAPRI

Rising from the purpling water
  With her brow of stone,
Sprite or nymph or Triton’s daughter,
Rising from the purpling water,
  Capri sits alone—­

Sits and looks across the billow
  Now the day is done
Resting on her rocky pillow
Sits and looks across the billow
  Toward the setting sun.

Misty visions trooping sadly
  Glimmer through her tears,
Shapes of men contending madly,—­
Misty visions trooping sadly
  From the vanished years.

Here Tiberius from his palace
  On the headland gray
Hurls his foes with gleeful malice,
Proud Tiberius at his palace
  Murd’ring men for play.

There Lamarque’s recruits advancing
  Scale yon rocky spot,
’Neath the moon their bright steel glancing,
See Lamarque’s recruits advancing
  Through a storm of shot.

But today the goat bells’ tinkle
  And the vespers chime,
Vineyards shade each rock-hewn wrinkle,
And today the goat bells’ tinkle
  Marks a happier time.