XLII. Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast (22) The fatal gift of beauty, which became On thy sweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame, Oh God! that thou wert in thy nakedness Less lovely or more powerful, and could'st claim Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress; XLIII. Then might'st thou more appal; or, less desired, Quaff blood and water; nor the stranger's sword Victor or vanquish'd, thou the slave of friend or foe. XLIV. Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him, (23) And Corinth on the left; I lay reclined Along the prow, and saw all these unite In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight; XLV. For Time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd Which only make more mourn'd and more endear'd Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. XLVI. That page is now before me, and on mine Of perish'd states he mourn'd in their decline, Of then destruction is; and now, alas! Rome Rome imperial, bows her to the storm, Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. XLVII. Yet, Italy! through every other land Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side; Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven! Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. XLVIII. But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps To laughing life, with her redundant horn. Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps Was modern Luxury of Commerce born, And buried Learning rose, redeem'd to a new morn. XLIX. There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills (25) The air around with beauty; we inhale The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils Part of its immortality; the veil Of heaven is half undrawn; within the pale We stand, and in that form and face behold What Mind can make, when Nature's self would fail And to the fond idolaters of old Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould L. We gaze and turn away, and know not where, Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart We stand as captives, and would not depart. LI. Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise? Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, Feeding on thy sweet cheek! (26) while thy lips are With lava kisses melting while they burn, Shower'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an urn! |