Monte Cassino Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Beautiful valley! through whose verdant meads
  Unheard the Garigliano glides along;—
The Liris, nurse of rushes and of reeds,
  The river taciturn of classic song.
The Land of Labor and the Land of Rest,
  Where mediaeval towns are white on all
The hillsides, and where every mountain's crest
  Is an Etrurian or a Roman wall.
There is Alagna, where Pope Boniface
  Was dragged with contumely from his throne;
Sciarra Colonna, was that day's disgrace
  The Pontiff's only, or in part thine own?
There is Ceprano, where a renegade
  Was each Apulian, as great Dante saith,
When Manfred by his men-at-arms betrayed
  Spurred on to Benevento and to death.
There is Aquinum, the old Volscian town,
  Where Juvenal was born, whose lurid light
Still hovers o'er his birthplace like the crown
  Of splendor seen o'er cities in the night.
Doubled the splendor is, that in its streets
  The Angelic Doctor as a school-boy played,
And dreamed perhaps the dreams, that he repeats
  In ponderous folios for scholastics made.
  Unheard the Garigliano glides along;—
The Liris, nurse of rushes and of reeds,
  The river taciturn of classic song.
The Land of Labor and the Land of Rest,
  Where mediaeval towns are white on all
The hillsides, and where every mountain's crest
  Is an Etrurian or a Roman wall.
There is Alagna, where Pope Boniface
  Was dragged with contumely from his throne;
Sciarra Colonna, was that day's disgrace
  The Pontiff's only, or in part thine own?
There is Ceprano, where a renegade
  Was each Apulian, as great Dante saith,
When Manfred by his men-at-arms betrayed
  Spurred on to Benevento and to death.
There is Aquinum, the old Volscian town,
  Where Juvenal was born, whose lurid light
Still hovers o'er his birthplace like the crown
  Of splendor seen o'er cities in the night.
Doubled the splendor is, that in its streets
  The Angelic Doctor as a school-boy played,
And dreamed perhaps the dreams, that he repeats
  In ponderous folios for scholastics made.
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