Here you will find the Poem Naples of poet John Greenleaf Whittier
INSCRIBED TO ROBERT C. WATERSTON, OF BOSTON. Fold her, O Father, in Thine arms, And let her henceforth be A messenger of love between Our human hearts and Thee. I give thee joy!--I know to thee The dearest spot on earth must be Where sleeps thy loved one by the summer sea; Where, near her sweetest poet's tomb, The land of Virgil gave thee room To lay thy flower with her perpetual bloom. I know that when the sky shut down Behind thee on the gleaming town, On Baiae's baths and Posilippo's crown; And, through thy tears, the mocking day Burned Ischia's mountain lines away, And Capri melted in its sunny bay; Through thy great farewell sorrow shot The sharp pang of a bitter thought That slaves must tread around that holy spot. Thou knewest not the land was blest In giving thy beloved rest, Holding the fond hope closer to her breast, That every sweet and saintly grave Was freedom's prophecy, and gave The pledge of Heaven to sanctify and save. That pledge is answered. To thy ear The unchained city sends its cheer, And, tuned to joy, the muffled bells of fear Ring Victor in. The land sits free And happy by the summer sea, And Bourbon Naples now is Italy! She smiles above her broken chain The languid smile that follows pain, Stretching her cramped limbs to the sun again. Oh, joy for all, who hear her call From gray Camaldoli's convent-wall And Elmo's towers to freedom's carnival! A new life breathes among her vines And olives, like the breath of pines Blown downward from the breezy Apennines. Lean, O my friend, to meet that breath, Rejoice as one who witnesseth Beauty from ashes rise, and life from death! Thy sorrow shall no more be pain, Its tears shall fall in sunlit rain, Writing the grave with flowers: 'Arisen again!'