The laurelled Dante's favourite seat. A throne, In just esteem, it rivals; though no style
Be there of decoration to beguile
The mind, depressed by thought of greatness flown. As a true man, who long had served the lyre,
I gazed with earnestness, and dared no more. But in his breast the mighty Poet bore
A Patriot's heart, warm with undying fire. Bold with the thought, in reverence I sate down, And, for a moment, filled that empty Throne.
BEFORE THE PICTURE OF THE BAPTIST, BY RAPHAEL,
IN THE GALLERY AT FLORENCE
HE Baptist might have been ordained to cry
Forth from the towers of that huge Pile, wherein
His Father served Jehovah; but how win
Due audience, how for aught but scorn defy
The obstinate pride and wanton revelry Of the Jerusalem below, her sin
And folly, if they with united din
Drown not at once mandate and prophecy?
Therefore the Voice spake from the Desert, thence To Her, as to her opposite in peace,
Silence, and holiness, and innocence,
To Her and to all Lands its warning sent,
Crying with earnestness that might not cease, 'Make straight a highway for the Lord-repent!'
AT FLORENCE-FROM MICHAEL ANGELO
APT above earth by power of one fair face, Hers in whose sway alone my heart delights, I mingle with the blest on those pure heights Where Man, yet mortal, rarely finds a place. With Him who made the Work that Work accords So well, that by its help and through His grace I raise my thoughts, inform my deeds and words, Clasping her beauty in my soul's embrace. Thus, if from two fair eyes mine cannot turn, I feel how in their presence doth abide
Light which to God is both the way and guide; And, kindling at their lustre, if I burn,
My noble fire emits the joyful ray
That through the realms of glory shines for aye.
AT FLORENCE-FROM MICHAEL ANGELO
TERNAL Lord! eased of a cumbrous load,
And loosened from the world, I turn to Thee; Shun, like a shattered bark, the storm, and flee To thy protection for a safe abode.
The crown of thorns, hands pierced upon the tree, The meek, benign, and lacerated face, To a sincere repentance promise_grace, To the sad soul give hope of pardon free. With justice mark not Thou, O Light divine, My fault, nor hear it with thy sacred ear; Neither put forth that way thy arm severe; Wash with thy blood my sins; thereto incline More readily the more my years require Help, and forgiveness speedy and entire.
AMONG THE RUINS OF A CONVENT IN THE APENNINES
E Trees! whose slender roots entwine Altars that piety neglects;
Whose infant arms enclasp the shrine Which no devotion now respects; If not a straggler from the herd Here ruminate, nor shrouded bird, Chanting her low-voiced hymn, take pride In aught that ye would grace or hide- How sadly is your love misplaced, Fair Trees, your bounty run to waste!
Ye, too, wild Flowers! that no one heeds, And ye-full often spurned as weeds- In beauty clothed, or breathing sweetness From fractured arch and mouldering wall— Do but more touchingly recall
Man's headstrong violence and Time's fleetness, Making the precincts ye adorn
Appear to sight still more forlorn.
EE, where his difficult way that Old Man wins
Appears his lot, to the small Worm's compared, For whom his toil with early day begins. Acknowledging no task-master, at will (As if her labour and her ease were twins) She seems to work, at pleasure to lie still; And softly sleeps within the thread she spins. So fare they-the Man serving as her Slave. Ere long their fates do each to each conform : Both pass into new being,—but the Worm, Transfigured, sinks into a hopeless grave; His volant Spirit will, he trusts, ascend To bliss unbounded, glory without end.
AIR Land! Thee all men greet with joy; how few, Whose souls take pride in freedom, virtue, fame, Part from thee without pity dyed in shame: I could not-while from Venice we withdrew, Led on till an Alpine strait confined our view Within its depths, and to the shore we came Of Lago Morto, dreary sight and name, Which o'er sad thoughts a sadder colouring threw. Italia! on the surface of thy spirit,
(Too aptly emblemed by that torpid lake) Shall a few partial breezes only creep?- Be its depths quickened; what thou dost inherit Of the world's hopes, dare to fulfil; awake, Mother of Heroes, from thy death-like sleep!
S indignation mastered grief, my tongue
A Spake bitter words; words that did ill agree
With those rich stores of Nature's imagery, And divine Art, that fast to memory clung-
Thy gifts, magnificent Region, ever young In the sun's eye, and in his sister's sight How beautiful! how worthy to be sung In strains of rapture, or subdued delight! I feign not; witness that unwelcome shock That followed the first sound of German speech, Caught the far-winding barrier Alps among. In that announcement, greeting seemed to mock Parting; the casual word had power to reach My heart, and filled that heart with conflict strong.
COMPOSED AT RYDAL ON MAY MORNING, 1838
F with old love of you, dear Hills! I share New love of many a rival image brought From far, forgive the wanderings of my thought: Nor art thou wronged, sweet May! when I compare Thy present birth-morn with thy last, so fair,
So rich to me in favours. For my lot Then was, within the famed Egerian Grot To sit and muse, fanned by its dewy air
Mingling with thy soft breath! That morning too, Warblers I heard their joy unbosoming Amid the sunny, shadowy, Colosseum;
Heard them, unchecked by aught of saddening hue, For victories there won by flower-crowned Spring, Chant in full choir their innocent Te Deum.
HERE towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds
O'er mutilated arches shed their seeds;
And temples, doomed to milder change, unfold A new magnificence that vies with old; Firm in its pristine majesty hath stood
A votive Column, spared by fire and flood:- And, though the passions of man's fretful race Have never ceased to eddy round its base, Not injured more by touch of meddling hands Than a lone obelisk, 'mid Nubian sands, Or aught in Syrian deserts left to save From death the memory of the good and brave.
Historic figures round the shaft embost Ascend, with lineaments in air not lost : Still as he turns, the charmed spectator sees Group winding after group with dream-like ease; Triumphs in sunbright gratitude displayed, Or softly stealing into modest shade.
-So, pleased with purple clusters to entwine Some lofty elm-tree, mounts the daring vine; The woodbine so, with spiral grace, and breathes Wide-spreading odours from her flowery wreaths.
Borne by the Muse from rills in shepherds' ears Murmuring but one smooth story for all years, I gladly commune with the mind and heart Of him who thus survives by classic art, His actions witness, venerate his mien, And study Trajan as by Pliny seen;
Behold how fought the Chief whose conquering sword Stretched far as earth might own a single lord; In the delight of moral prudence schooled, How feelingly at home the Sovereign ruled; Best of the good-in pagan faith allied To more than Man, by virtue deified.
Memorial Pillar! 'mid the wrecks of Time Preserve thy charge with confidence sublime- The exultations, pomps, and cares of Rome,
Whence half the breathing world received its doom; Things that recoil from language; that, if shown By apter pencil, from the light had flown.
A Pontiff, Trajan here the Gods implores, There greets an Embassy from Indian shores; Lo! he harangues his cohorts-there the storm Of battle meets him in authentic form! Unharnessed, naked, troops of Moorish horse Sweep to the charge; more high, the Dacian force, To hoof and finger mailed;-yet, high or low, None bleed, and none lie prostrate but the foe; In every Roman, through all turns of fate,
Is Roman dignity inviolate;
Spirit in him pre-eminent, who guides, Supports, adorns, and over all presides; Distinguished only by inherent state
From honoured Instruments that round him wait; Rise as he may, his grandeur scorns the test
Of outward symbol, nor will deign to rest On aught by which another is deprest.
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