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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Recollections</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye dear stars of the Bear, I did not think<br>I should again be turning, as I used,<br>To see you over father's garden shine,<br>And from the windows talk with you again<br>Of this old house, where as a child I dwelt,<br>And where I saw the end of all my joys.<br>What charming images, what fables, once,<br>The sight of you created in my thought,<br>And of the lights that bear you company!<br>Silent upon the verdant clod I sat,<br>My evening thus consuming, as I gazed<br>Upon the heavens, and listened to the chant<br>Of frogs that in the distant marshes croaked;<br>While o'er the hedges, ditches, fire-flies roamed,<br>And the green avenues and cypresses<br>In yonder grove were murmuring to the wind;<br>While in the house were heard, at intervals,<br>The voices of the servants at their work.<br>What thoughts immense in me the sight inspired<br>Of that far sea, and of the mountains blue,<br>That yonder I behold, and which I thought<br>One day to cross, mysterious worlds and joys<br>Mysterious in the future fancying!<br>Of my hard fate unconscious, and how oft<br>This sorrowful and barren life of mine<br>I willingly would have for death exchanged!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor did my heart e'er tell me, I should be<br>Condemned the flower of my youth to spend<br>In this wild native region, and amongst<br>A wretched, clownish crew, to whom the names<br>Of wisdom, learning, are but empty sounds,<br>Or arguments of laughter and of scorn;<br>Who hate, avoid me; not from envy, no;<br>For they do not esteem me better than<br>Themselves, but fancy that I, in my heart,<br>That feeling cherish; though I strive, indeed,<br>No token of such feeling to display.<br>And here I pass my years, abandoned, lost,<br>Of love deprived, of life; and rendered fierce,<br>'Mid such a crowd of evil-minded ones,<br>My pity and my courtesy I lose,<br>And I become a scorner of my race,<br>By such a herd surrounded; meanwhile, fly<br>The precious hours of youth, more precious far<br>Than fame, or laurel, or the light of day,<br>Or breath of life: thus uselessly, without<br>One joy, I lose thee, in this rough abode,<br>Whose only guests are care and suffering,<br>O thou, the only flower of barren life!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wind now from the tower of the town<br>The deep sound of the bell is bringing. Oh,<br>What comfort was that sound to me, a child,<br>When in my dark and silent room I lay,<br>Besieged by terrors, longing for the dawn!<br>Whate'er I see or hear, recalls to mind<br>Some vivid image, recollection sweet;<br>Sweet in itself, but O how bitter made<br>By painful sense of present suffering,<br>By idle longing for the past, though sad,<br>And by the still recurring thought, '_I was_'!<br>Yon gallery that looks upon the west;<br>Those frescoed walls, these painted herds, the sun<br>Just rising o'er the solitary plain,<br>My idle hours with thousand pleasures filled,<br>While busy Fancy, at my side, still spread<br>Her bright illusions, wheresoe'er I went.<br>In these old halls, when gleamed the snow without,<br>And round these ample windows howled the wind,<br>My sports resounded, and my merry words,<br>In those bright days, when all the mysteries<br>And miseries of things an aspect wear,<br>So full of sweetness; when the ardent youth<br>Sees in his untried life a world of charms,<br>And, like an unexperienced lover, dotes<br>On heavenly beauty, creature of his dreams!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O hopes, illusions of my early days!--<br>Of you I still must speak, to you return;<br>For neither flight of time, nor change of thoughts,<br>Or feelings, can efface you from my mind.<br>Full well I know that honor and renown<br>Are phantoms; pleasures but an idle dream;<br>That life, a useless misery, has not<br>One solid fruit to show; and though my days<br>Are empty, wearisome, my mortal state<br>Obscure and desolate, I clearly see<br>That Fortune robs me but of little. Yet,<br>Alas! as often as I dwell on you,<br>Ye ancient hopes, and youthful fancy's dreams,<br>And then look at the blank reality,<br>A life of ennui and of wretchedness;<br>And think, that of so vast a fund of hope,<br>Death is, to-day, the only relic left,<br>I feel oppressed at heart, I feel myself<br>Of every comfort utterly bereft.<br>And when the death, that I have long invoked,<br>Shall be at hand, the end be reached of all<br>My sufferings; when this vale of tears shall be<br>To me a stranger, and the future fade,<br>Fade from sight forever; even then, shall I<br>Recall you; and your images will make<br>Me sigh; the thought of having lived in vain,<br>Will then intrude, with bitterness to taint<br>The sweetness of that day of destiny.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, in the first tumultuous days of youth,<br>With all its joys, desires, and sufferings,<br>I often called on death, and long would sit<br>By yonder fountain, longing, in its waves<br>To put an end alike to hope and grief.<br>And afterwards, by lingering sickness brought<br>Unto the borders of the grave, I wept<br>O'er my lost youth, the flower of my days,<br>So prematurely fading; often, too,<br>At late hours sitting on my conscious bed,<br>Composing, by the dim light of the lamp,<br>I with the silence and the night would moan<br>O'er my departing soul, and to myself<br>In languid tones would sing my funeral-song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who can remember you without a sigh,<br>First entrance into manhood, O ye days<br>Bewitching, inexpressible, when first<br>On the enchanted mortal smiles the maid,<br>And all things round in emulation smile;<br>And envy holds its peace, not yet awake,<br>Or else in a benignant mood; and when,<br>--O marvel rare!--the world a helping hand<br>To him extends, his faults excuses, greets<br>His entrance into life, with bows and smiles<br>Acknowledges his claims to its respect?<br>O fleeting days! How like the lightning's flash,<br>They vanish! And what mortal can escape<br>Unhappiness, who has already passed<br>That golden period, his own _good_ time,<br>That comes, alas, so soon to disappear?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou, Nerina, does not every spot<br>Thy memory recall? And couldst thou e'er<br>Be absent from my thought? Where art thou gone,<br>That here I find the memory alone,<br>Of thee, my sweet one? Thee thy native place<br>Beholds no more; that window, whence thou oft<br>Wouldst talk with me, which sadly now reflects<br>The light of yonder stars, is desolate.<br>Where art thou, that I can no longer hear<br>Thy gentle voice, as in those days of old,<br>When every faintest accent from thy lips<br>Was wont to turn me pale? Those days have gone.<br>They _have been_, my sweet love! And thou with them<br>Hast passed. To others now it is assigned<br>To journey to and fro upon the earth,<br>And others dwell amid these fragrant hills.<br>How quickly thou hast passed! Thy life was like<br>A dream. While dancing there, joy on thy brow<br>Resplendent shone, anticipations bright<br>Shone in thy eyes, the light of youth, when Fate<br>Extinguished them, and thou didst prostrate lie.<br>Nerina, in my heart the old love reigns.<br>If I at times still go unto some feast,<br>Or social gathering, unto myself<br>I say: 'Nerina, thou no more to feast<br>Dost go, nor for the ball thyself adorn.'<br>If May returns, when lovers offerings<br>Of flowers and of songs to maidens bring,<br>I say: 'Nerina mine, to thee spring ne'er<br>Returns, and love no more its tribute brings.'<br>Each pleasant day, each flowery field that I<br>Behold, each pleasure that I taste, the thought<br>Suggest: 'Nerina pleasure knows no more,<br>The face of heaven and earth no more beholds.'<br>Ah, thou hast passed, for whom I ever sigh!<br>Hast passed; and still the memory of thee<br>Remains, and with each thought and fancy blends<br>Each varying emotion of the heart;<br>And _will_ remain, so bitter, yet so sweet!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Count+Giacomo+Leopardi">Count Giacomo Leopardi</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359074" data-title="Recollections de Count Giacomo Leopardi" data-description="Ye dear stars of the Bear, I did not think
I should again be turning, as I used,
To see you over father's garden shine,
And from the windows talk with you again
Of this old house, where as a child I dwelt,
And where I saw the end of all my joys.
W..."></div>
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