The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, The beautiful, the brave-the lords of earth and sea, XXVI. The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome ! And even since, and now, fair Italy? Thou art the garden of the world, the home Even in thy desert, what is like to thee? Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm, which cannot be defaced. XXVII. The Moon is up, and yet it is not night- Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest! XXVIII. A single star is at her side, and reigns With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still 11 Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows, XXIX. Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters; all its hues, From the rich sun-set to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse: And now they change; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day Dies like the Dolphin, whom each pang imbues The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone-and all is grey. XXX. There is a tomb in Arqua;-rear'd in air, Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose The bones of Laura's lover: here repair Watering the tree which bears his lady's name 12 XXXI. They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died; 13 An honest pride and let it be their praise, To offer to the passing stranger's gaze His mansion and his sepulchre; both plain A feeling more accordant with his strain XXXII. And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt XXXIII. Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours With a calm languor, which, though to the eye Idles it seems, hath its morality, If from society we learn to live, 'Tis solitude should teach us how to die; It hath no flatterers; vanity can give No hollow aid; alone-man with his God must strive : Or, it may be, with demons, who impair 14 Of moody texture from their earliest day; XXXV. FERRARA ! in thy wide and grass-grown streets, Whose symmetry was not for solitude, There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood Of ESTE, which for many an age made good Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore The wreath which Dante's, brow alone had worn before. XXXVI. And Tasso is their glory and their shame. Hark to his strain! and then survey his cell! And see how dearly earn'd Torquato's fame, The miserable despot could not quell 1 The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell Where he had plung'd it. Glory without end The tears and praises of all time; while thine Of worthless dust, which from thy boasted line Is shaken into nothing; but the link Thou formest in his fortunes, bids us think Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn- From thee! if in another station born, Scarce fit to be the slave, Of him thou mad'st to mourn : XXXVIII. Thou! form'd to eat, and be despis'd and die, In face of all his foes, thee Cruscan quire; And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow 15 No strain which shamed his country's creaking lyre, That whetstone of the teeth-monotony in wire! |