This I could no longer stand, so
Now began this ghost to banish.
From the brother of the lovely
Luisella, from the crooked
Cunning druggist of Sorrento
Quantities of ink I ordered,
And sailed o'er the bay to Capri.
Here began my exorcisms.
Many pale-gold coloured sea-fish,
Many lobsters, many oysters,
I ate up without compassion;
Drank the red wine like Tiberius,
Without mercy poetising;
On the roof went up and down till
All resounded metrically,
And the charm was then accomplished:
Chained up in four-measured trochees
Lay those figures which so long now
From my couch sweet sleep had banished.

'Twas high time, too; Spring already
Now gave signal of his coming--
Buds were sprouting on the fig-trees;
Shots were cracking, for with guns and
Nets they were the quails pursuing,
Who towards home their flight were taking;
And the minstrel was in peril
Then of seeing feathered colleagues
Set upon the table roasted.
This dread o'er him, pen and inkstand
Flew against the wall together.
Ready now and newly soled were
My strong boots which old Vesuvius
Had much damaged with his sulphur.
Farther now I journey onward.
Up, my good old Marinaro!
Off from land! the waves with pleasure
Bear light hearts and weightless freightage.

But the song, which with such happy
Spring-born feelings from my heart welled,
Bears my greetings to my country
And to you, my honoured parents.
Many faults are in it, truly:
Tragic pathos may be wanting,
And a racy tendance; also,
As in Amaranth, the fragrant
Incense of a pious soul, its
Sober but pretentious colouring.
Take him, as he is, this ruddy.
Rough, uncouth son of the mountains,
With a pine branch on his straw hat.
What he's wanting in, pray, cover
With the veil of kind indulgence.
Take him not as thanks, for always
In your Book of Love I'm debtor,
But as greeting and as witness,
That a man whom worldly fortune
Has not placed 'mid smiling verdure,
Yet can, happy as a lark pour
Out his song on leafless branches.

Capri, _May 1st_, 1853.

PREFACE

TO THE SECOND EDITION.