And what were thou, and earth, and stars,
If to the human mind's imaginings
Silence and solitude were vacancy?

Vaucluse

and sea,

Percy Bysshe Shelley.

VAUCLUSE, Valchiusa, the Shut Valley (from

which the French, in the modern enthusiasm for intellect, gave the name to the department in which it lies), is a remarkable spot in the old poetical regions of Provence, consisting of a little deep glen of green meadows surrounded with rocks, and containing the fountain of the river Sorgue. Petrarch, when a boy of eight or nine years of age, had been struck with its beauty, and exclaimed that it was the place of all others he should like to live in, better than the most splendid cities. He resided there afterward for several years, and composed in it the greater part of his poems. Indeed, he says in his account of himself, that he either wrote or conceived in that valley almost every work he produced. He lived in a little cottage, with a small homestead, on the banks of the river. Here he thought to forget his passion for Laura, and here he found it stronger than ever. We do not well see how it could have been otherwise, for Laura lived no great way off, at Chabrières, and he appears to have seen her often in the very place.

Leigh Hunt.

Vaucluse

LESS because Petrarch and his Muse have made

These hills and streams immortal as his fame,
Linked in melodious verse with Laura's name,
Than for thy sake, O Nature! have I strayed
To this wild region. In the rocky glade,
Deep at the mountain's base, the fountains keep
Their ceaseless gushing, till the waters leap
A mighty torrent from the endless shade;
A moment linger there in glassy rest,

Break on the craggy steep with foaming crest,
Then thunder through the chasm, swift and strong!
So bursts the Poet's passion from his breast,
Noiseless and deep and pure, to flood erelong
The listening tracts of Time with ceaseless tides of
William Allen Butler.

song!

The Fountain at Vaucluse

(Vaucluse)

[OT far removed, yet hid from distant eyes,

NOT

Low in her secret grot, a Naiad lies.

Steep, arching rocks, with verdant moss o'ergrown,
From her rude diadem and native throne:

There in a gloomy cave her waters sleep,
Clear as a brook, but as an ocean deep.
Yet, when the waking flowers of April blow,
And warmer sunbeams melt the gathered snow,
Rich with the tribute of the vernal rains,
The nymph, exulting, bursts her silver chains;
Her living waves in sparkling columns rise,

And shine like rainbows to the sunny skies;
From cliff to cliff the falling waters roar,
Then die in murmurs, and are heard no more.
Hence, softly flowing in a dimpled stream,
The crystal Sorga spreads a lively gleam,
From which a thousand rills in mazes glide,
And deck the banks with summer's gayest pride,
Brighten the verdure of the smiling plains,
And crown the labor of the joyful swains.
First on these banks, (ah, dream of short
delight!)

The charms of Laura struck my dazzled sight;
Charms that the bliss of Eden might restore,
That heaven might envy, and mankind adore.
I saw,
- and O, what heart could long rebel?
I saw, I loved, and bade the world farewell.
Where'er she moved, the meads were fresh and

gay,

And every bower exhaled the sweets of May;
Smooth flowed the streams, and softly blew the gale;
The rising flowers impurpled every dale;
Calm was the ocean and the sky serene;
An universal smile o'erspread the shining scene:
But when in death's cold arms entranced she lay,
(Ah, ever dear, yet ever fatal day!)

O'er all the air a direful gloom was spread;

Pale were the meads, and all their blossoms dead; The clouds of April shed a baleful dew;

All nature wore a veil of deadly hue.

Sir William Jones.

S

Canzone XI

(Vaucluse)

STANZA I

HIARE, fresche, e dolci acque,

CHI

Ove le belle membra

Pose colei, che sola a me par donna;
Gentil ramo, ove piacque

(Con sospir mi rimembra)

A lei di fare al bel fianco colonna;
Erba e fior, che la gonna

Leggiadra ricoverse

Con l'angelico seno;

Aer sacro sereno,

Ov' Amor co' begli occhi il cor m'aperse;

Date udienza insieme

Alle dolenti mie parole estreme.

Da' be' rami scendea

(Dolce nella memoria)

Una pioggia di fior sovra 'l suo grembo;

Ed ella si sedea

Umile in tanta gloria,

Coverta già dell' amoroso nembo.

Qual fior cadea sul lembo,

Qual su le trecce bionde;

Ch' oro forbito, e perle

Song XI

(Vaucluse)

CLEA

STANZA I

“LEAR, fresh, and dulcet streams,
Which the fair shape who seems

To me, sole woman, haunted at noontide;
Fair bough, so gently fit,

(I sigh to think of it),

Which lent a pillar to her lovely side;

And turf, and flowers bright-eyed,

O'er which her folded gown

Flowered like an angel's down;

And you, O holy air and hushed,

Where first my heart at her sweet glances gushed; Give ear, give ear, with one consenting,

To my last words, my last and my lamenting.

How well I call to mind,

When from those boughs the wind

Shook down upon her bosom flower on flower;
And there she sat meek-eyed,

In midst of all that pride,

Sprinkled and blushing through an amorous shower.

Some to her hair paid dower,

And seemed to dress the curls,
Queenlike, with gold and pearls;