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Who, gathering up all that Time's envious

tooth Has spared of sound and grave realities, Firmly rejects those dazzling flatteries, 5

Dear as they are to unsuspecting Youth,
That might have drawn down Clio from the

To vindicate the majesty of truth.
Such was her office while she walked with men,
A Muse, who, not unmindful of her Sire 10
All-ruling Jove, whate'er the theme might be
Revered her Mother, sage Mnemosyne,
And taught her faithful servants how the lyre
Should animate, but not mislead, the pen.1


They—who have seen the noble Eoman's scorn
Break forth at thought of laying down his head,
When the blank day is over, garreted
In his ancestral palace, where, from morn
To night, the desecrated floors are worn 5

By feet of purse-proud strangers; they—who

have read In one meek smile, beneath a peasant's shed, How patiently the weight of wrong is borne; They—who have heard some learned Patriot

treat Of freedom, with mind grasping the whole theme From ancient Rome, downwards through that

bright dream n

Of Commonwealths, each city a starlike seat
Of rival glory; they—fallen Italy—
Nor must, nor will, nor can, despair of Thee!

1 Quern virum lyra

sumes celebrare Clio?


Long has the dew been dried on tree and lawn;
O'er man and beast a not unwelcome boon
Is shed, the languor of approaching noon;
To shady rest withdrawing or withdrawn
Mute are all creatures, as this couchant fawn, 5
Save insect-swarms that hum in air afloat,
Save that the Cock is crowing, a shrill note,
Startling and shrill as that which roused the

dawn. —Heard in that hour, or when, as now, the

nerve Shrinks from the note as from a mis-timed

thing, 10

Oft for a holy warning may it serve,
Charged with remembrance of his sudden sting,
His bitter tears, whose name the Papal Chair
And yon resplendent Church are proud to bear.


Days passed—and Monte Calvo would not clear
His head from mist; and, as the wind sobbed

through Albano's dripping Ilex avenue, My dull forebodings in a Peasant's ear Found casual vent. She said, "Be of good

cheer; 5

Our yesterday's procession did not sue
In vain; the sky will change to sunny blue,
Thanks to our Lady's grace." I smiled to hear,
But not in scorn:—the Matron's Faith may lack
The heavenly sanction needed to ensure 10

Fulfilment; but, we trust, her upward track Stops not at this low point, nor wants the lure Of flowers the Virgin without fear may own, For by her Son's blest hand the seed was sown.

Near Anio's stream I spied a gentle Dove Perched on an olive branch, and heard her

cooing 'Mid new-born blossoms that soft airs were

wooing, While all things present told of joy and love. But restless Fancy left that olive grove 5

To hail the exploratory Bird renewing
Hope for the few, who, at the world's undoing,
On the great flood were spared to live and move.
0 bounteous Heaven! signs true as dove and

bough Brought to the ark are coming evermore, 10 Given though we seek them not, but, while we

This sea of life without a visible shore,
Do neither promise ask nor grace implore
In what alone is ours, the living Now.


Forgive, illustrious Country! these deep sighs, Heaved less for thy bright plains and hills

bestrown With monuments decayed or overthrown, For all that tottering stands or prostrate lies, Than for like scenes in moral vision shown, 5 Ruin perceived for keener sympathies;

Faith crushed, yet proud of weeds, her gaudy

crown; Virtues laid low, and mouldering energies. Yet why prolong this mournful strain ?—Fallen

Power, Thy fortunes, twice exalted, might provoke 10 Verse to glad notes prophetic of the hour When thou, uprisen, shalt break thy double

yoke, And enter, with prompt aid from the Most High, On the third stage of thy great destiny.


When here with Carthage Rome to conflict

came, An earthquake, mingling with the battle's

shock, Checked not its rage; unfelt the ground did

rock, Sword dropped not, javelin kept its deadly

aim.— Now all is sun-bright peace. Of that day's

shame, 5

Or glory, not a vestige seems to endure,
Save in this Bill that took from blood the name'
Which yet it bears, sweet Stream! as crystal

pure. So may all trace and sign of deeds aloof From the true guidance of humanity, 10

Thro' Time and Nature's influence, purify
Their spirit; or, unless they for reproof
Or warning serve, thus let them all, on ground
That gave them being, vanish to a sound.

1 Sanguinetto.


Fob action born, existing to be tried,

Powers manifold we have that intervene

To stir the heart that would too closely screen

Her peace from images to pain allied.

What wonder if at midnight, by the side 5

Of Sanguinetto or broad Thrasymene,

The clang of arms is heard, and phantoms glide,

Unhappy ghosts in troops by moonlight seen;

And singly thine, O vanquished Chief! whose

corse, Unburied, lay hid under heaps of slain: 10

But who is He ?—the Conqueror. Would he

force His way to Rome? Ah, no,—round hill and

plain Wandering, he haunts, at fancy's strong command, This spot—his shadowy death-cup in his hand.

May 25th, 1837.

List—'twas the Cuckoo.—O with what delight

Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint,

Far off and faint, and melting into air,

Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again!

Those louder cries give notice that the Bird, 5

Although invisible as Echo's self,

Is wheeling hitherward. Thanks, happy Creature,

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