Belov'd Meran, supremely fair!
With joy I greet thy peaks anew,
And quaff again the crystal air
That fills thy snow-rimmed bowl of blue.

Once more through miles of trellised vines
The purple bloom of vintage glows;
Once more amid my palms and pines
I breathe the perfume of the rose.

Once more, as snow-crests far and wide
Flush crimson in the Alpine glow,
I sit and muse at eventide
On Roman days of long ago.

Across the valley, steeped in light,
Uplifted toward the western skies,
And flanked by many a snow-crowned height,
The stately "Roman Terrace" lies;

Whose fair expanse hath been a stage
Where actors for two thousand years
Have played, by turns, in every age
Their varying roles of smiles and tears.

Still through its mighty Vintschgau door
The sunset streams in floods of gold;
Still winding o'er its emerald floor,
The river sparkles as of old.

I watch the distant torrent leap
From ledge to ledge, yet hear no sound;
A ghostly path it seems, whose deep,
Swift channel cleaves enchanted ground.

Beside its waves, whose glittering spray
Begems the gorge its flood hath worn,
Rome's conquering legions made their way
A score of years ere Christ was born.

On yonder mound where frowns the wood,
And curves the road with steep incline,
A temple to Diana stood
Before the age of Antonine.

Near Schloss Tyrol's dismantled frame
I see the ancient watchtower stand,
Whence Caesar's guards with smoke or flame
Flashed signals into Switzerland.

And, nearer yet, Forst's stately walls
Loom grandly from the darkening moor,
Where still a dungeon-keep recalls
The last Tyrolean Troubadour.

Belov'd Meran! the splendid dower
That Nature gave to South Tyrol
Cannot alone explain thy power
To captivate both mind and soul;

I love thy sunshine, fruits and flowers,
I love thy mountain-peaks sublime,
But, best of all, thine agÈd towers,—
The ivied protÉgÉs of Time.

Thus favored, while my sun of life
Moves calmly toward a cloudless west,
I crave no more the New World's strife
And ceaseless turmoil of unrest;

Content, within my garden walls,
To let the Present's uproar cease,
While on my tranquil spirit falls
The Past's sweet benison of peace.