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Baised and sustained by memory of Him 126 Who oftentimes within those narrow bounds Eocked on the surge, there tried his spirit's

strength And grasp of purpose, long ere sailed his ship To lay a new world open.

Nor less prized 130 Be those impressions which incline the heart To mild, to lowly, and to seeming weak, Bend that way her desires. The dew, the

storm— The dew whose moisture fell in gentle drops On the small hyssop destined to become, 135 By Hebrew ordinance devoutly kept, A purifying instrument—the storm That shook on Lebanon the cedar's top, And as it shook, enabling the blind roots Further to force their way, endowed its trunk With magnitude and strength fit to uphold 141 The glorious temple—did alike proceed From the same gracious will, were both an

offspring Of bounty infinite.

Between Powers that aim
Higher to lift their lofty heads, impelled 145
By no profane ambition, Powers that thrive
By conflict, and their opposites, that trust
In lowliness—a mid-way tract there lies
Of thoughtful sentiment for every mind
Pregnant with good. Young, Middle-aged, and
Old," 150

From century on to century, must have known
The emotion—nay, more fitly were it said—
The blest tranquillity that sunk so deep
Into my spirit, when I paced, enclosed
In Pisa's Campo Santo, the smooth floor 155
Of its Arcades paved with sepulchral slabs,

And through each window's open fret-work

looked O'er the blank Area of sacred earth Fetched from Mount Calvary, or haply delved In precincts nearer to the Saviour's tomb, 160 By hands of men, humble as brave, who fought For its deliverance—a capacious field That to descendants of the dead it holds And to all living mute memento breathes, More .touching far than aught which on the

walls 165

Is pictured, or their epitaphs can speak,
Of the changed City's long-departed power,
Glory, and wealth, which, perilous as they are,
Here did not kill, but nourished, Piety.
And, high above that length of cloistral roof,
Peering in air and backed by azure sky, 171
To kindred contemplations ministers
The Baptistery's dome, and that which swells
From the Cathedral pile; and with the twain
Conjoined in prospect mutable or fixed 175

(As hurry on in eagerness the feet,
Or pause) the summit of the Leaning-tower.
Nor less remuneration waits on him
Who having left the Cemetery stands
In the Tower's shadow, of decline and fall 180
Admonished not without some sense of fear,
Fear that soon vanishes before the sight
Of splendour unextinguished, pomp unscathed,
And beauty unimpaired. Grand in itself,
And for itself, the assemblage, grand and fair
To view, and for the mind's consenting eye 186
A type of age in man, upon its front
Bearing the world-acknowledged evidence
Of past exploits, nor fondly after more
Struggling against the stream of destiny, 190
But with its peaceful majesty content.

—Oh what a spectacle at every turn

The Place unfolds, from pavement skinned with

moss, Or grass-grown spaces, where the heaviest foot Provokes no echoes, but must softly tread; 195 Where Solitude with Silence paired stops short Of Desolation, and to Ruin's scythe Decay submits not.

But where'er my steps Shall wander, chiefly let me cull with car,e Those images of genial beauty, oft 200

Too lovely to be pensive in themselves
But by reflexion made so, which do best
And fitliest serve to crown with fragrant wreaths
Life's cup when almost filled with years, like

mine. —How lovely robed in forenoon light and shade, Each ministering to each, didst thou appear 206 Savona, Queen of territory fair As aught that marvellous coast thro' all its

length Yields to the Stranger's eye. Remembrance

holds As a selected treasure thy one cliff, 210

That, while it wore for melancholy crest
A shattered Convent, yet rose proud to have
Clinging to its steep sides a thousand herbs
And shrubs, whose pleasant looks gave proof

how kind The breath of air can be where earth had else Seemed churlish. And behold, both far and near, 216

Garden and field all decked with orange bloom, And peach and citron, in Spring's mildest breeze Expanding; and, along the smooth shore curved Into a natural port, a tideless sea, 210

To that mild breeze with motion and with voice

Softly responsive; and, attuned to all
Those vernal charms of sight and sound, ap-
peared
Smooth space of turf which from the guardian
fort 224

Sloped seaward, turf whose tender April green,
In coolest climes too fugitive, might even here
Plead with the sovereign Sun for longer stay
Than his unmitigated beams allow,
Nor plead in vain, if beauty could preserve,
From mortal change, aught that is born on
earth 230

Or doth on time depend.

While on the brink
Of that high Convent-crested cliff I stood,
Modest Savona! over all did brood
A pure poetic Spirit—as the breeze,
Mild—as the verdure, fresh—the sunshine,
bright— 235

Thy gentle Chiabrera !.—not a stone,
Mural or level with the trodden floor,
In Church or Chapel, if my curious quest
Missed not the truth, retains a single name
Of young or old, warrior, or saint, or sage, 240
To whose dear memories his sepulchral verse
Paid simple tribute, such as might have flowed
Prom the clear spring of a plain English heart,
Say rather, one in native fellowship
With all who want not skill to couple grief 245
With praise, as genuine admiration prompts.
The grief, the praise, are severed from their

dust,
Yet in his page the records of that worth
Survive, uninjured;—glory then to words,
Honour to word-preserving Arts, and hail 250
Te kindred local influences that still,
If Hope's familiar whispers merit faith,

Await my steps when they the hreezy height
Shall range of philosophic Tusculum;
Or Sabine vales explored inspire a wish 255
To meet the shade of Horace by the side
Of his Blandusian fount; or I invoke
His presence to point out the spot where once
He sate, and eulogised with earnest pen
Peace, leisure, freedom, moderate desires; 260
And all the immunities of rural life
Extolled, behind Vacuna's crumbling fane.
Or let me loiter, soothed with what is given,
Nor asking more, on that delicious Bay,
Parthenope's Domain—Virgilian haunt, 265
Illustrated with never-dying verse,
And, by the Poet's laurel-shaded tomb,
Age after age to Pilgrims from all lands
Endeared.

And Wik)—if not a man as cold 269
In heart as dull in brain—while pacing ground
Chosen by Rome's legendary Bards, high minds
Out of her early struggles well inspired
To localize heroic acts —could look
Upon the spots with undelighted eye,
Though even to their last syllable the Lays 275
And very names of those who gave them birth
Have perished ?—Verily, to her utmost depth,
Imagination feels what Reason fears not
To recognize, the lasting virtue lodged 279

In those bold fictions that, by deeds assigned
To the Valerian, Pabian, Curian Race,
And others like in fame, created Powers
With attributes from History derived,
By Poesy irradiate, and yet graced,
Through marvellous felicity of skill, 285

With something more propitious to high aims
Than either, pent within her separate sphere,
Can oft with justice claim.

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