Some verse of Ariosto! There, unseen,
In manly beauty Milton stood before him,
Gazing with reverent awe, - Milton, his guest,
Just then come forth, all life and enterprise;
He in his old age and extremity,

Blind, at noonday exploring with his staff;
His eyes upturned as to the golden sun,
His eyeballs idly rolling. Little then
Did Galileo think whom he received;

That in his hand he held the hand of one

Who could requite him, who would spread his name
O'er lands and seas, great as himself, nay, greater;
Milton as little that in him he saw,

As in a glass, what he himself should be,
Destined so soon to fall on evil days
And evil tongues, so soon, alas, to live
In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,
And solitude.

Samuel Rogers.

BUT

Baja (Baia).

BAIE.

UT Baix, soft retreat in days of yore, Recalls our step, and wooes us to its shore. Heroes and emperors trod this smiling strand, And art, song, pleasure reigned, a fairy band. Here Cæsar stooped his pride to garden bowers, And stern-browed Marius wreathed his sword with flowers;

Here rich Lucullus gorgeous banquets spread,

And Pollio time in chains of roses led:

Steeped in warm bliss seemed ocean, earth, and sky, Life one rich dream of love and luxury.

Catania.

CATANIA.

Nicholas Michell.

ATANIA! on thy famed and classic shore

CATAN

I long to plant my foot, and stand between
A paradise, all blooming, gay, and green,
And thy earth-circled ocean's gentle roar,

Along whose peaceful waves the sunbeams pour,
From stainless skies, deep amber, and imbue
The ruffled waters with an iris hue,
Like torchlight sparkling in a vault of ore,
And turning I behold thy fields of grain
Waving in yellow floods o'er vale and plain,
And meadows mantled in a waste of flowers,
And hills whereon the golden orange glows,
And purpling with the ripe vine's nectared bowers,
And breathing with the myrtle and the rose;
And higher still, flame-crested Etna towering,
A belt of giant oak and chestnut waves
In gloomy verdure, like the cypress louring
With shade of solemn night o'er Eastern graves;
And loftier, in its virgin robe of white,
The snow-cap, pillowed on the cloudless sky,
Seems like a floating column of pure light.
And round its pointed cone dark volumes lie

Rolled from the volcan's jaws, and sheets of flame
Dart on their path to Heaven, and flowing o'er
The glowing torrent rolls its flashing stream,

And from the mountain's womb comes forth a sullen

roar.

James Gates Percival.

Cuma (Cuma).

CUMÆ.

THOU breeze! why bear the violet's rich perfume?

Ye birds! why soar and sing on wanton plume? Through the long grass why flow, ye crystal streams? And why, thou sun! pour down thy gladdening beams ? Cimmerian darkness here its cloud should spread, And silence claim this City of the Dead. Cuma! that lives in Virgil's matchless lay, Mother of states ere Rome commenced her sway! Who braved Etruria's might, and dared the power Of Afric's chief in Carthage' proudest hour; Where are her busy forums, merchant-fleets, Her mustering armies, and her crowded streets? Where her bronzed shrine that gleamed along the wave, And, more than all, her Sibyl's mystic cave? Pride of Campania! daughter of the sea! Gone is her wealth, and bowed her majesty ; Where once her palace shone, her towers arose, Turf wraps the soil, a shadowy forest grows! There, blent with weeds, the wild-flower wastes its breath, And beasts and reptiles halve the spot with Death.

Nicholas Michell.

Where the moon-silvered inlets

Send far their light voice
Up the still vale of Thisbe,
O, speed, and rejoice!

On the sward at the cliff-top
Lie strewn the white flocks;
On the cliff-side the pigeons
Roost deep in the rocks;

In the moonlight the shepherds,
Soft lulled by the rills,

Lie wrapt in their blankets,
Asleep on the hills.

What forms are these coming
So white through the gloom?

What garments out-glistening
The gold-flowered broom?

What sweet-breathing presence
Outperfumes the thyme?
What voices enrapture
The night's balmy prime?

'Tis Apollo comes leading
His choir, the Nine.

The leader is fairest,

But all are divine.

They are lost in the hollows!

They stream up again!

What seeks on this mountain

The glorified train?

They bathe on this mountain,

In the spring by their road;
Then on to Olympus,

Their endless abode!

Whose praise do they mention?

Of what is it told?

What will be forever

What was from of old.

First hymn they the Father

Of all things; and then
The rest of immortals,

The action of men.