Author: Arthur Hugh Clough
CANTO IV. Eastward, or Northward, or West? I wander and ask as I wander, Weary, yet eager and sure, Where shall I come to my love? Whitherward hasten to seek her? Ye daughters of Italy, tell me, Graceful and tender and dark, is she consorting with you? Thou that out-climbest the torrent, that tendest thy goats to the summit, Call to me, child of the Alp, has she been seen on the heights? Italy, farewell I bid thee! for whither she leads me, I follow. Farewell the vineyard for I, where I but guess her, must go. Weariness welcome, and labour, wherever it be, if at last it Bring me in mountain or plain into the sight of my love. I. CLAUDE TO EUSTACE, from Florence. Gone from Florence; indeed! and that is truly provoking; Gone to Milan, it seems; then I go also to Milan. Five days now departed; but they can travel but slowly; I quicker far; and I know, as it happens, the house they will go to. Why, what else should I do? Stay here and look at the pictures, Statues, and churches? Alack, I am sick of the statues and pictures! No, to Bologna, Parma, Piacenza, Lodi, and Milan, Off go we to-night, and the Venus go to the Devil! II. CLAUDE TO EUSTACE, from Bellaggio. Gone to Como, they, said; and I have posted to Como. There was a letter left; but the cameriere had lost it. Could it have been for me? They came, however, to Como, And from Como went by the boat, perhaps to the Splgen, Or to the Stelvio, say, and the Tyrol; also it might be By Porlezza across to Lugano, and so to the Simplon Possibly, or the St. Gothard, or possibly, too, to Baveno, Orta, Turin, and elsewhere. Indeed, I am greatly bewildered. III. CLAUDE TO EUSTACE, from Bellaggio. I have been up the Splgen, and on the Stelvio also: Neither of these can I find they have followed; in no one inn, and This would be odd, have they written their names. I have been to Porlezza; There they have not been seen, and therefore not at Lugano. What shall I do? Go on through the Tyrol, Switzerland, Deutschland, Seeking, an inverse Saul, a kingdom, to find only asses? There is a tide, at least, in the love affairs of mortals, Which, when taken at flood, leads on to the happiest fortune, Leads to the marriage-morn and the orange-flowers and the altar, And the long lawful line of crowned joys to crowned joys succeeding. Ah, it has ebbed with me! Ye gods, and when it was flowing, Pitiful fool that I was, to stand fiddle-faddling in that way! IV. CLAUDE TO EUSTACE, from Bellaggio. I have returned and found their names in the book at Como. Certain it is I was right, and yet I am also in error. Added in feminine hand, I read, By the boat to Bellaggio. So to Bellaggio again, with the words of her writing to aid me. Yet at Bellagio I find no trace, no sort of remembrance. So I am here, and wait, and know every hour will remove them. V. CLAUDE TO EUSTACE, from Bellaggio. I have but one chance left, and that is going to Florence. But it is cruel to turn. The mountains seem to demand me, Peak and valley from far to beckon and motion me onward. Somewhere amid their folds she passes whom fain I would follow; Somewhere among those heights she haply calls me to seek her. Ah, could I hear her call! could I catch the glimpse of her raiment! Turn, however, I must, though. it seem I turn to desert her; For the sense of the thing is simply to hurry to Florence, Where the certainty yet may be learnt, I suppose, from the Ropers. VI. MARY TREVELLYN, from Lucerne, TO MISS ROPER, at Florence. Dear Miss Roper, By this you are safely away, we are hoping, Many a league from Rome; ere long we trust we shall see you. How have you travelled? I wonder; was Mr. Claude your companion? As for ourselves, we went from Como straight to Lugano; So by the Mount St. Gothard; we meant to go by Porlezza, Taking the steamer, and stopping, as you had advised, at Bellaggio, Two or three days or more; but this was suddenly altered, After we left the hotel, on the very way to the steamer. So we have seen, I fear, not one of the lakes in perfection. Well, he is not come, and now, I suppose, he will not come. What will you think, meantime? and yet I must really confess it; What will you say? I wrote him a note. We left in a hurry, Went from Milan to Como, three days before we expected. But I thought, if he came all the way to Milan, he really Ought not to be disappointed; and so I wrote three lines to Say I had heard he was coming, desirous of joining our party; If so, then I said, we had started for Como, and meant to Cross the St. Gothard, and stay, we believed, at Lucerne, for the summer. Was it wrong? and why, if it was, has it failed to bring him? Did he not think it worth while to come to Milan? He knew (you Told him) the house we should go to. Or may it, perhaps, have miscarried? Any way, now, I repent, and am heartily vexed that I wrote it. There is a home on the shore of the Alpine sea, that upswelling High up the mountain-sides spreads in the hollow between; Wilderness, mountain, and snow from the land of the olive conceal it; Under Pilatuss hill low by its river it lies Italy, utter the word, and the olive and vine will allure not, Wilderness, forest, and snow will not the passage impede; Italy, unto thy cities receding, the clue to recover, Hither, recovered the clue, shall not the traveller haste?
Type of Poem: Narrative Poem
Date Written:
Date Published:
Language: English
Keywords: Public Domain
Source: Public Domain Collection
Publisher:
Rights/Permissions: Public Domain
Comments/Notes: This expansive poem is a passionate narrative of longing and pursuit, set against the backdrop of Italy's picturesque landscapes. It's structured as a series of letters, each offering a snapshot of the protagonist's relentless quest for his beloved. The theme of unrequited love, or perhaps love not yet realized, is consistent throughout, as the speaker seeks his beloved across different cities.
The tone is restless and yearning, mirroring the protagonist's emotional state. He is eager, weary, and at times despairing, but never gives up his quest. The structure of the poem, with its shifting locations and fragmented narrative, underscores this sense of ceaseless journeying. The speaker uses rich imagery and sensory detail to make the landscapes he travels through palpable to the reader, making the setting almost a character in its own right.
The poem is rife with literary devices, particularly metaphors and similes, that enhance its emotional depth. The protagonist's journey is compared to an 'inverse Saul' seeking a kingdom, a biblical allusion that adds a layer of dramatic weight to his quest. Repetition, as in the refrain of questioning and bidding farewell to Italy, underscores his dedication and determination.
The poem is a potent exploration of longing, pursuit, and the human capacity for hope in the face of uncertainty. Its rich imagery and emotional authenticity make it a compelling read.
Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the voices of a narrator and characters as well. Unlike lyric poetry, which focuses on emotions and thoughts, narrative poetry is dedicated to storytelling, weaving tales that captivate readers through plot and character development.
Narrative poems are unique in their ability to combine the depth of storytelling with the expressive qualities of poetry. Here are some defining characteristics:
From ancient epics like "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey" to more modern narrative poems, this form continues to engage readers by blending the art of storytelling with the beauty and rhythm of poetry.