140 BROWN : 



My winged boat, 

 A bird afloat, 

 Swims round the purple peaks remote : — 



Round purple peaks 



It sails, and seeks 

 Blue inlets and their crystal creeks. 



Where high rocks throw, 



Through depths below, 

 A duplicated golden glow. 



Far, vague and dim. 



The mountains swim ; 

 While on Vesuvius' misty brim. 



With outstretched hands 



The gray smoke stands 

 O'erlooking the volcanic lands. 



Here Iscliia smiles 



O'er liquid miles ; 

 And yonder, bluest of the isles. 



Calm Capri waits. 



Her sapphire gates 

 Beguiling to her bright estates. 



I heed not, if 



My rippling skiff 

 Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff ; — 



With dreamful eyes 



My spirit lies 

 Under the walls of Paradise. 



Now if it be true, as stated, that Buchanan Read had not 

 seen the Bay of Naples when he wrote this, it is a real creation 

 — true poetrj' according to the derivation of the word. 



Leaving Point Palinuro — and there are not many more 

 renowned men than Palinurtis, the pilot of yEneas. He was 

 drowned, deprived of the rites of sepulture, and so could not 

 cross the river Styx. And when ^neas found the poor fellow 

 mourning on the hither shore of that dreadful stream he could 

 console him with the declaration that the cape where he vainly 

 tried to land should bear his name forever. 



Leaving, then. Point Palinuro on the right and sailing 



