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All things have their alloy; go southwards on,
A waste of sweets; the sun ne'er shone upon
What are its natives now, but imps from hell
Great Loyola, how well thy sons succeed,
He loves; alas, to whom shall we appeal?
Here is Religion, robed in rich attire,
To please the eye, not meliorate the heart;
He heedeth not the labour of man's hands ;
Fear him, and love him, honour his commands,
Quick are the Italian's feelings, prompt to wrong;
The powers of the mind cannot be rude.
What then doth breed revenge and deeds of blood? The vivid spirit that delights the muse,
Not the less willing when she's fiercely woo'd. Those impulses, how dangerous their abuse, Which when directed well heroic acts produce!
'Twas here the light of science first broke forth
Amid the Gothic gloom of former ages;
What change! that light's diffused throughout the earth,
Yet Barbarism's evil genius rages
E'en in a country long since famed for sages.
Invasions, civil wars, the jealous strife
Of princes, sully here the historian's pages.
Awake, Italia's sons, awake to life;
Throw off your foreign yoke, but scorn the inglorious
Where Mind to Marble gives a living grace—
Where Poetry all passions doth embrace
In language form'd to rouse the soul or melt—
Be what ye were in ages past again,
Brave Milanese, the spoilers must re-seek their den.
And he who mid dark cypresses and urns
The prisoner hates the light; and lovely truth,
When seen and not embraced, heightens our woes in sooth.
But Leopold's kind genius yet presides
Comparatively happy; there resides
Smiling Content. Though short may be the span
Of life, when princes do what good they can
While the poor subject's looks are pale and wan― Not in some courtly verse that lauds their lusts, But in that general wealth the stranger ne'er distrusts.
The exuberant produce Ceres here brings forth, (For here if husbanded she cannot fail,)
Shows him at once the patriot monarch's worth. The numerous houses, studding hill and dale, The fattening olive with its foliage pale, The cheerful peasantry, (for years must pass Ere laws that tend to improve mankind can fail In doing good, though scarce observed, alas!) Honour his memory more than monuments of brass.
I dream not of Utopias, nor a race
Of patriot kings; men may be better'd yet : If be but administer'd with grace, Let monarchs shine in robes all gorgeous; let The statesman boast his star and coronet : But as for those who first insult and scorn, Then catch within their Machiavelian net The freeborn mind, though diadems adorn Their brows, they hardly rank o'er knaves ignobly born.
Oh ITALY! rich in thy wood-cover'd mountains, Thy rainbow-crown'd falls, and their ever-green fountains; Thy skies in the thunder-storms, even, are bright, With the rapid effulgence of rose-colour'd light; Thy shores do embrace, with their vast arms, the deep, On whose blue tranquil bosom the sun loves to sleep; While silvery mists round its islets are gleaming, And gauze-clouds along the horizon are streaming; And Horace yet lives near his favourite hill; (The delicate air breathes his poetry still ;) Thy temples decay; still their ruins are seen, Half grey through old time, or with ivy half green; The fig-tree, pomegranate, pinastre, and vine, The blossoming almond-tree's blushes, are thine: But thy heroes are dust, and thy spirit is fled, And the last of thy warriors, the White-Plumed, is dead!
Amid rich orange-trees, whose beauteous fruit Glows like the western sun with deepen'd hue; Where carelessly the southern plants up shoot, Their green contrasting with the sky's deep blueThink ye to find Arcadian fables true?
Vain hope! pale misery sallows every face, Yet still to Nature's works full praise is due : Oft in the peasant's wretched looks ye trace Some lineaments unspoil'd as yet of manly grace.