"O Milan, O the chanting quires, The giant windows’ blazon’d fires, The height, the space, the gloom, the glory! A mount of marble, a hundred spires!"

"Yes! pleased, on our land, from his azure way, The Sun ever smiles with unclouded ray. But never, fair isle, shall thy sons repose 'Mid the sweets which the faithless waves enclose. On their bosom they wafted the corsair bold, With his dreaded barks to our coast of old. For thee was thy dower of beauty vain, 'Twas the treasure that lured the spoiler's train. Oh, ne'er from these smiling vales shall rise A sword for our vanquished liberties; 'Tis not where the laughing Ceres reigns, And the jocund lord of the flowery plains:— Where the iron lies hid in the mountain cave, Spring the men of empire, the free and brave."

"Tarentum calls On you her wooers, no unworthy bride; Chief harbour, richest mart of Italy. Whither Philanthus, in Laconia's prime, Brought the first Spartan exiles: whither sailed Arion with his music o'er the main. The port of Epirote and Grecian kings; The haunt of old Pythagorean lore. The same soft breezes blow around her towers, The same soil teems about her terraces,— Flowing with wines of Aulon, fruits and oil,— The same wool thickens on her hundred hills, As fleet the coursers on her emerald meads, Her seas are purple with as deep a dye, As when, in earlier days of far renown, Queen of the southern shores she held the ships Of Rome beyond Lacinia, or displayed The phalanx of white shields at Asculum. Nor is the spirit of our warriors dead, Beneath their bonds; the City, with her capes Stretching like arms to Carthage, calls on you To set her free."

"And next Tarentum’s bay, Named, if report be true, from Hercules, Is seen; and opposite lifts up her head The goddess of Lacinia; and the heights Appear of Caulon, and the dangerous rocks Of Sylaceum. Then far off we see Trinacrian Ætna rising from the waves; And now we hear the ocean’s awful roar, The breakers dashing on the rocks, the moan Of broken voices on the shore. The deeps Leap up, and sand is mixed with boiling foam. “Charybdis!” cries Anchises; “lo, the cliffs, The dreadful rocks that Helenus foretold! Save us,—bear off, my men! With equal stroke Bend on your oars!” No sooner said than done. With groaning rudder Palinurus turns The prow to the left, and the whole cohort strain With oar and sail, and seek a southern course. The curving wave one moment lifts us up Skyward, then sinks us down as in the shades Of death. Three times amid their hollow caves The cliffs resound; three times we saw the foam Dashed,—that the stars hung dripping wet with dew. Meanwhile, abandoned by the wind and sun, Weary, and ignorant of our course, we are thrown Upon the Cyclops’ shore."

"First of old of Oscan towns! Prize of triumphs, pearl of crowns; Half a thousand years have fled, Since arose thy royal head, Splendour of the Lucumoes.Tuscan fortress, doomed to feel Sharpest edge of Samnite steel, Flashing down the Liris tide; Re-arisen, in richer pride, Cynosure of Italy!Let the Gaurian echoes say How, with Rome, we ruled the fray; Till the fatal field was won By the chief who slew his son, ’Neath the vines of Vesulus.Siren city, where the plain Glitters twice with golden grain, Twice the bowers of roses blow, Twice the grapes and olives flow, Thou wilt chain the conqueror;Home of war-subduing eyes, Shining under softest skies, Gleaming to the silver sea, Liber, Venus, strive for thee, Empress of Ausonia!Glorious in thy martial bloom, Glorious still in storm and gloom, We thy chiefs who dare to die Raise again thy battle-cry,— Charge with Capuan chivalry!"

"A wealthy and populous city, none richer in silver, gold and garments from innumerable places."

"There would I linger, then go forth again; And he who steers due east, doubling the cape, Discovers, in a crevice of the rock, The fishing-town, Amalfi. Haply there A heaving bark, an anchor on the strand, May tell him what it is; but what it was, Cannot be told so soon. The time has been, When on the quays along the Syrian coast, ’Twas asked and eagerly, at break of dawn, “What ships are from Amalfi?” when her coins, Silver and gold, circled from clime to clime; From Alexandria southward to Sennaar, And eastward, through Damascus and Cabul And Samarcand, to thy great wall, Cathay. Then were the nations by her wisdom swayed; And every crime on every sea was judged According to her judgments. In her port Prows, strange, uncouth, from Nile and Niger met, People of various feature, various speech; And in their countries many a house of prayer, And many a shelter, where no shelter was, And many a well, like Jacob’s in the wild, Rose at her bidding. Then in Palestine, By the wayside, in sober grandeur stood A hospital, that, night and day, received The pilgrims of the west; and, when ’twas asked, “Who are the noble founders?” every tongue At once replied, “The merchants of Amalfi.” That hospital, when Godfrey scaled the walls, Sent forth its holy men in complete steel; And hence, the cowl relinquished for the helm, That chosen band, valiant, invincible, So long renowned as champions of the Cross, In Rhodes, in Malta. For three hundred years There, unapproached but from the deep, they dwelt; Assailed forever, yet from age to age Acknowledging no master. From the deep They gathered in their harvests; bringing home, In the same ship, relics of ancient Greece, That land of glory where their fathers lay, Grain from the golden vales of Sicily, And Indian spices. Through the civilized world Their credit was ennobled into fame; And when at length they fell, they left mankind A legacy, compared with which the wealth Of Eastern kings, what is it in the scale?— The mariner’s compass."

"Then there is Amalfi, the most prosperous town in Lombardy, the most noble, the most illustrious on account of its conditions, and most affluent and opulent. The territory of Amalfi borders on that of Naples. This is a fair city, but less important than Amalfi."

"Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and mountains meet, Where amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat, Bathing ever her white feet In the tideless summer seas.In the middle of the town, From its fountains in the hills, Tumbling through the narrow gorge, The Canneto rushes down, Turns the great wheels of the mills, Lifts the hammers of the forge. ’Tis a stairway, not a street, That ascends the deep ravine, Where the torrent leaps between Rocky walls that almost meet. Toiling up from stair to stair Peasant girls their burdens bear; Sunburnt daughters of the soil, Stately figures tall and straight, What inexorable fate Dooms them to this life of toil?Lord of vineyards and of lands, Far above the convent stands. On its terraced walk aloof Leans a monk with folded hands, Placid, satisfied, serene, Looking down upon the scene Over wall and red-tiled roof; Wondering unto what good end All this toil and traffic tend, And why all men cannot be Free from care and free from pain, And the sordid love of gain, And as indolent as he.Where are now the freighted barks From the marts of east and west; Where the knights in iron sarks Journeying to the Holy Land, Glove of steel upon the hand, Cross of crimson on the breast? Where the pomp of camp and court? Where the pilgrims with their prayers? Where the merchants with their wares, And their gallant brigantines Sailing safely into port Chased by corsair Algerines?Vanished like a fleet of cloud, Like a passing trumpet-blast, Are those splendors of the past, And the commerce and the crowd! Fathoms deep beneath the seas Lie the ancient wharves and quays, Swallowed by the engulfing waves; Silent streets and vacant halls, Ruined roofs and towers and walls; Hidden from all mortal eyes Deep the sunken city lies: Even cities have their graves!This is an enchanted land! Round the headlands far away Sweeps the blue Salernian bay With its sickle of white sand: Further still and furthermost On the dim discovered coast Pæstum with its ruins lies, And its roses all in bloom Seem to tinge the fatal skies Of that lonely land of doom.On his terrace, high in air, Nothing doth the good monk care For such worldly themes as these. From the garden just below Little puffs of perfume blow, And a sound is in his ears Of the murmur of the bees In the shining chestnut-trees; Nothing else he heeds or hears. All the landscape seems to swoon In the happy afternoon; Slowly o’er his senses creep The encroaching waves of sleep, And he sinks, as sank the town, Unresisting, fathoms down, Into caverns cool and deep!Walled about with drifts of snow, Hearing the fierce north-wind blow, Seeing all the landscape white, And the river cased in ice, Comes this memory of delight, Comes this vision unto me Of a long-lost Paradise, In the land beyond the sea."

"It is the mid-May sun that, rayless and peacefully gleaming, Out of its night’s short prison this blessed of lands is redeeming; It is the fire evoked from the hearts of the citron and orange, So that they hang, like lamps of the day, translucently beaming; It is the veinless water, and air unsoiled by a vapor, Save what, out of the fulness of life, from the valley is steaming; It is the olive that smiles, even he, the sad growth of the moonlight, Over the flowers, whose breasts triple-folded with odors are teeming;— Yes, it is these bright births that to me are a shame and an anguish; They are alive and awake,—I dream, and know I am dreaming; I cannot bathe my soul in this ocean of passion and beauty,— Not one dewdrop is on me of all that about me is streaming; O, I am thirsty for life,—I pant for the freshness of nature, Bound in the world’s dead sleep, dried up by its treacherous seeming."

"Pavia la dotta."

"Pavia the learned."

"The fireflies, pulsing forth their rapid gleams, Are the only light That breaks the night; A stream, that has the voice of many streams, Is the only sound All around: And we have found our way to the rude stone, Where many a twilight we have sat alone, Though in this summer-darkness never yet; We have had happy, happy moments here, We have had thoughts we never can forget, Which will go on with us beyond the bier. The very lineaments of thy dear face I do not see, but yet its influence I feel, even as my outward sense perceives The freshening presence of the chestnut leaves, Whose vaguest forms my eye can only trace, By following where the darkness seems most dense. What light, what sight, what form, can be to us Beautiful as this gloom? We have come down, alive and conscious, Into a blesséd tomb: We have left the world behind us, Her vexations cannot find us, We are too far away; There is something to gainsay In the life of every day; But in this delicious death We let go our mortal breath, Naught to feel and hear and see, But our heart’s felicity; Naught with which to be at war, Naught to fret our shame or pride, Knowing only that we are, Caring not what is beside."

"Lucca the busy."

"You are at Lucca baths, you tell me, to stay for the summer; Florence was quite too hot; you can’t move further at present. Will you not come, do you think, before the summer is over?"

"From off our bridge, he said: "O Malebranche, Behold one of the elders of Saint ; Plunge him beneath, for I return for othersUnto that town, which is well furnished with them. All there are barrators, except Bonturo; No into Yes for money there is changed."

"Lucca l'industriosa."

"This one, methought, as master of the sport, Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight Of Lucca to the Pisan."

"Gently, as roses die, the day declines; On the charmed air there is a hush the while; And delicate are the twilight-tints that smile Upon the summits of the Apennines. The moon is up; and o’er the warm wave shines A faery bridge of light, whose beams beguile The fancy to some far and fortunate isle, Which love in solitude unlonely shrines. The blue night of Italian summer glooms Around us; over the crystalline swell I gaze on Genoa’s spires and palace-domes: City of cities, the superb, farewell! The beautiful, in nature’s bloom, is thine; And Art hath made it deathless and divine!"

"Grifus ut has angit Sic hostes Janua frangit."

"The Pope, anxiously revolving the sad vicissitudes of the Christians in the east, turned to Venice and Genoa, praying them for the love of Christ to combine and save the fair island of Cyprus, still unpolluted by the presence of the infidels. But the lion of St Mark was a fierce yoke-fellow. The more restricted the field of influence became between Venice and Genoa the more bitter grew their jealousy. Two fleets were, however, fitted out in response to the Papal appeal. Their prows had scarcely touched Cyprian waters when a fight took place between some of the allied ships, and to the edification of the Saracen the two greatest maritime powers of Christendom were soon engaged in mutual destruction."

"Tra l'azzurro ed il bianco, sul fondo dei colli di un verde opaco, Genova è misteriosa al modo di Londra, l'altra città europea fatta a compartimenti stagni."

"One of the most beautiful things that can be seen in this world is Genoa viewed from the sea.At the head of the bay the city rises as if from out of the water. On both sides, which make a curve around Genoa, as if to protect and caress it, fifteen small towns, neighbors, vassals, servants, reflect and bathe their light-colored houses in the waters. To the left are Cogoleto, Arenzano, Voltri, Pra, Pegli, Sestri-Ponente, and San Pier d’Arena; to the right, Sturla, Quarto, Quinto, Nervi, Bogliasco, Sori, Recco, Camogli, the last white spot on the cape of Porto-Fino, which closes the gulf on the southeast."

"How sweet the stars are, trembling in the sky, As I look up across the shadowy trees, Whose branches softly melt in heaven’s seas, And mix with stars as griefs with destinies. How sweet they are that overhead do fly And reel and burn like sweet dreams born divine That high in heaven grow restless if too fine For human uses. Sweet the sleepy air That scarce can hold the moonlight in its arms, For dreaming and for sleeping; sweet the stair Of clouds that winds to God, upheld in palms Of planets poised in the dark atmosphere; Sweet all things here atwixt the seas and skies,— Sights, sounds, and odors of this Paradise!"

"Between the blue and the white, against the backdrop of the opaque green hills, Genoa is mysterious in the way of London, the other European city made up of water-tight compartments."

"Nothing announces Italy better than Genoa; it is the worthy marble portico of this eternal gallery which ends at the Gulf of Taranto; it is the peristyle of this museum which exhibits its paintings, its statues, its cities, on the wall of the Apennines; and refreshes its atmosphere with the cross breezes of its two seas."

"Я и забыл Вам сказать, что провел в Генуе сутки и в очень хорошем расположении духа. Только вчера начал хандрить. Генуя в своем роде чудное место. Были ли Вы в S-ta Maria di Carignano, c колокольни которой открывается дивный вид на всю Геную? Очень живописно."

"We loved that hall, tho’ white and cold, Those nichèd shapes of noble mould, A princely people’s awful princes, The grave, severe Genovese of old."

"This house was ’s. Here he lived; And here at eve relaxing, when ashore, Held many a pleasant, many a grave discourse With them that sought him, walking to and fro As on his deck. ’Tis less in length and breadth Than many a cabin in a ship of war; But ’tis of marble, and at once inspires The reverence due to ancient dignity. He left it for a better; and ’tis now A house of trade, the meanest merchandise Cumbering its floors. Yet, fallen as it is, ’Tis still the noblest dwelling, even in Genoa! And hadst thou, Andrea, lived there to the last, Thou hadst done well; for there is that without, That in the wall, which monarchs could not give, Nor thou take with thee, that which says aloud, It was thy country’s gift to her deliverer. ’Tis in the heart of Genoa (he who comes Must come on foot) and in a place of stir; Men on their daily business, early and late, Thronging thy very threshold. But, when there, Thou wert among thy fellow-citizens, Thy children, for they hailed thee as their sire: And on a spot thou must have loved, for there, Calling them round, thou gav’st them more than life, Giving what, lost, makes life not worth the keeping. There thou didst do, indeed, an act divine; Nor couldst thou leave thy door or enter in, Without a blessing on thee. Thou art now Again among them. Thy brave mariners, They who had fought so often by thy side, Staining the mountain-billows, bore thee back; And thou art sleeping in thy funeral-chamber. Thine was a glorious course; but couldst thou there Clad in thy cere-cloth,—in that silent vault, Where thou art gathered to thy ancestors,— Open thy secret heart and tell us all, Then should we hear thee with a sigh confess, A sigh how heavy, that thy happiest hours Were passed before these sacred walls were left, Before the ocean-wave thy wealth reflected, And pomp and power drew envy, stirring up The ambitious man, that in a perilous hour Fell from the plank."

"Leaving Piemont, and coasting the sassinous shoare of Genoaes revieroe, I ported Ligorne, the great Dukes Sea-haven; ..."

"If there were war with Venice a truce was made with Pisa; and whenever there was war with either there was usually peace at home, so that the frequent outbreaks of civil war coincided with periods of external inactivity, and perhaps served to keep the Genoese exercised in the military arts."

"17 October 1644. ... We passed over to the Pharos, or Lantern, a tower of very great height. Here we took horses, and made the circuit of the city as far as the new walls, built of a prodigious height, and with Herculean industry; witness those vast pieces of whole mountains which they have hewn away, and blown up with gunpowder, to render them steep and inaccessible. They are not much less than twenty English miles in extent, reaching beyond the utmost buildings of the city. From one of these promontories we could easily discern the island of Corsica; and from the same, eastward, we saw a vale having a great torrent running through a most desolate barren country; and then turning our eyes more northward, saw those delicious villas of St. Pietro d'Arena, which present another Genoa to you, the ravishing retirements of the Genoese nobility. Hence, with much pain, we descended toward the Arsenal, where the galleys lie in excellent order."

"Source of Genova la Superba ("Genoa the Proud")"

"Vedrai una città regale, addossata ad una collina alpestre, superba per uomini e per mura, il cui solo aspetto la indica signora del mare."

"Genoa has a port, goods, and proud houses."

"Cette ville n'a que trois rues, et elle est un des plus belles du monde."

"At Genoa the whole Commonweale is governed by them that are borne of the eight and twenty families, and none is called to any charge whatsoever if he be not of this number, which they call an aggregation. Thence are taken the foure hundreth, of whome the great Counsell consisteth, having the whole power and authoritie of the State, and they are chosen from yeare to yeare, out of whom is made another Counsell, which is likewise annuall, called the little Counsel; & this is assembled more often than the great Counsell, and therein the affaires are commonly treated of. For the great Counsell is never held, but for the creation of the Duke and the eight Governours of the Commonweale, which are renued every two yeares, or to consult of peace and warre, and other matters of great consequence. All the Magistrates there, what authority soever they have, are Syndiquez so soone as their charge is expired, that is, they may be accused and called to account."

"South from Piemont and Lumbardy, lieth the Riviera of Genoa, along the Mediterrean sea: the territory of which is narrow, but above one hundreth miles in length: All which is exceeding rocky and mountainous, yet producing good store of Orenges, Lemmons, Figges and Ches-nuts, whereon the Mountaineri onely live, being either rosted, or baked in bread: The chiefe Cities of this Genewesen Liguria, are Genoa and Savona."

"At Genoa I remained two days. To the peculiar attractions of a port, and that too a port of the Mediterranean, were added the magnificence and glories of a capital. ... It is not wide, is without side-walks, and but for the structures that line its two sides, would offer nothing remarkable. For more than a mile, however, it is a succession of edifices, that, in any other country but Italy, would be deemed fit for royalty."

"Rien n'annonce mieux l'Italie que Gênes; c'est le digne portique de marbre de cette éternelle galerie qui finit au golfe de Tarente; c'est le péristyle de ce musée qui expose ses tableaux, ses statues, ses villes, sur la muraille des Apennins; et rafraîchit son atmosphère avec les brises croisées de ses deux mers."

"It is a place that ‘grows upon you’ every day. There seems to be always something to find out in it. There are the most extraordinary alleys and by-ways to walk about in. You can lose your way (what a comfort that is, when you are idle!) twenty times a day, if you like; and turn up again, under the most unexpected and surprising difficulties. It abounds in the strangest contrasts; things that are picturesque, ugly, mean, magnificent, delightful, and offensive, break upon the view at every turn."

"Got here quite comfortably—no heat, just air that one likes to sit out in, and not to walk up hills in. A heavenly place it is. Not so the road here from Savona."

"I quite forgot to tell you, I spent a day in Genoa. In its way it is a fine place. Do you know Santa Maria di Carignano, from the tower of which one gets such a wonderful view over the whole town? Extraordinarily picturesque!"

"Une des plus belles choses qu'on puisse voir au monde: Gênes, de la haute mer.Au fond du golfe, la ville se soulève comme si elle sortait des flots, au pied de la montagne. Le long des deux côtes qui s’arrondissent autour d’elle pour l’enfermer, la protéger et la caresser, dirait-on, quinze petites cités, des voisines, des vassales, des servantes, reflètent et baignent dans l’eau leurs maisons claires. ..."

"Hautes maisons (jusqu'à treize étages), ruelles des plus étroites dans la vieille ville. Fraîches et malodorantes. Le soir, occupées par une foule compacte. De jour, davantage par la jeunesse. Langes flottant dans l'air comme autant de drapeaux dans une ville pavoisée. Cordes tendues entre les fenêtres qui se font face. De jour, soleil ardent sur ces ruelles, reflets métalliques de la mer là en bas, afflux de lumière de toute part; éblouissements. À quoi s'ajoutent les résonances d'un orgue de Barbarie, pittoresque métier. Tout autour, ronde d'enfants. Le théâtre dans la réalité. Emporté avec moi assez de mélancolie par-delà le Saint-Gothard. L'influence de Dionysos sur moi n'est pas si simple."

"High houses (up to thirteen floors), extremely narrow alleys in the old town. Cool and smelly. In the evening, thickly filled with people. In daytime, more with youngsters, Their swaddling clothes wave in the air like flags over a celebrating town. Strings hang from window to window across the street. By day, stinging sun in these alleys, the sparkling, metallic reflections of the sea; below, a flood of light from all sides: dazzling brilliance. Add to all this the sound of a hurdy-gurdy, a picturesque trade. Children dancing all around. Theater turned real. I have taken a certain amount of melancholy along with me over the Gotthard Pass. Dionysos doesn’t have a simple effect on me."

"Genoa was a bank before it was a city."

"Genua habet portum, mercesque domosque superbas."

"As the griffin throttles these [beasts], so Genoa crushes her foes."

"Genoa has only three streets and yet is one of the most beautiful cities in the world."