Was I not softly hushed, here fondly reared ? Ah! is not this my country, so endeared In whose lap shrouded both my parents lie? Your torpid bosoms to compassion wrought, Look on the people's grief, Who, after God, of you expect relief! And if ye but relent, Virtue shall rouse her in embattled might, Nor long shall doubtful hang the unequal fight; For no, Is not extinguished yet, that raised the Italian name ! Mark, sovereign lords, how Time, with pinion strong, Swift hurries life along! E'en now, behold, Death presses on the rear! We sojourn here a day, The soul, disrobed, alone, the next, are gone! Must shuddering seek the doubtful pass we fear. Abase the lofty brow of wrath and scorn ! (Storms adverse to the eternal calm on high!) And ye, whose cruelty Has sought another's harm, by fairer deed Of heart or hand or intellect, aspire To win the honest meed Of just renown, the noble mind's desire! Thus sweet on earth the stay! Thus to the spirit pure unbarred is heaven's way! My song, with courtesy, and numbers sooth, For thou the mighty, in their pride of place, Must woo to gentle ruth, Whose haughty will long evil customs nurse, Thee better fortunes wait, Among the virtuous few, the truly great! Tell them, But who shall bid my terrors cease? Peace! Peace! on thee I call! return, O heaven-born Peace! Francesco Petrarca. Tr. Lady Dacre. TO ITALY. AIR land, once loved of Heaven o'er all beside, FAIR Which blue waves gird and lofty mountains screen! Thus do ye God's almighty name adore? TO ITALY. THANKS be to God, my feet are now addressed, THAN Proud Italy, at least to visit thee, After six weary years, since destiny Forbids me in thy dear-loved lap to rest. With weeping eyes, with look and heart depressed, While hope and joy my troubled spirit flee, And seek the Gaul, more kindly prompt to greet Since Heaven decrees, and thou dost so incline. FROM TO ITALY. ROM ignominious sleep, where age on age Wake, and behold thy wounds with noble rage! Have worn the yoke which bows to earth thy neck, ITALY! TO ITALY. TALY! Italy! thou who 'rt doomed to wear The dower funest of infinite wretchedness Ah! would that thou wert stronger, or less fair, Seem wasting, yet to mortal combat dare! Vincenzo da Filicaja. Tr. H. W. Longfellow: 0 TO ITALY. LAND of beauty, garlanded with pine And luscious grape-vines, 'neath whose vaulted skies Of blue eternal, marble mansions rise, And roseate flowers from every lattice shine! Still have the nations striven from of yore Anonymous. То SEA-COAST OF ITALY. O instigate Taranto's prince, to arm His valiant people for the mighty shock, And save his brother from impending harm, Imprisoned by the foe, disastrous stroke! Forth sailed the vessel, breathing round a charm, And keeping well at sea from sand or rock; The goddess sat, in gold and azure veiled, Upon the poop, from man and heaven concealed. Capraia and Gorgona having past, She turns towards the left the glittering prow; Leghorn, then Elba, famous for its vast Ferruginous mines; and low Faleria now, And Piombino are behind her cast; Countries which still to Ocean's monarch bow; Where still the eagle, with triumphant wings, O'er mountain, plain, and sea his shadow flings. * |