Fled from all eyes; or, in a waking dream,
I might have sat as many a great man has,
And many a small, like him of Santillane,
Bartering my bread and salt for empty praise.

ITALY.

AM I in ITALY? Is this the Mincius?

Are those the distant turrets of Verona?
And shall I sup where JULIET at the Masque
Saw her loved MONTAGUE, and now sleeps by him?
Such questions hourly do I ask myself;
And not a stone, in a cross-way, inscribed
'To Mantua '-' To Ferrara '-but excites
Surprise, and doubt, and self-congratulation.
O ITALY, how beautiful thou art!

Yet I could weep-for thou art lying, alas,
Low in the dust; and we admire thee now
As we admire the beautiful in death.

Thine was a dangerous gift, when thou wert born,
The gift of Beauty. Would thou hadst it not;
Or wert as once, awing the caitiffs vile

That now beset thee, making thee their slave!
Would they had loved thee less, or feared thee more!
-But why despair? Twice hast thou lived already ;
Twice shone among the nations of the world,

As the sun shines among the lesser lights

Of heaven; and shalt again. The hour shall come,
When they who think to bind the ethereal spirit,
Who, like the eagle cowering o'er his prey,
Watch with quick eye, and strike and strike again
If but a sinew vibrate, shall confess

Their wisdom folly. Even now the flame
Bursts forth where once it burnt so gloriously,
And, dying, left a splendour like the day,
That like the day diffused itself, and still
Blesses the earth-the light of genius, virtue,
Greatness in thought and act, contempt of death,
God-like example. Echoes that have slept
Since ATHENS, LACEDEMON, were Themselves,
Since men invoked' By those in MARATHON!'
Awake along the EGEAN; and the dead,

They of that sacred shore, have heard the call,
And thro' the ranks, from wing to wing, are seen
Moving as once they were-instead of rage
Breathing deliberate valour.

"In this neglected mirror (the broad frame Of massy silver serves to testify

That many a noble matron of the house
Has sat before it) once, alas, was seen
What led to many sorrows. From that time
The bat came hither for a sleeping place;

And he, that cursed another in his heart,
Said, 'Be thy dwelling, thro' the day and night,
Shunned like COLL' ALTO." "—"Twas in that old Pile,
Which flanks the cliff with its grey battlements
Flung here and there, and, like an eagle's nest,
Hangs in the TREVISAN, that thus the Steward,
Shaking his locks, the few that Time had left,
Addressed me, as we entered what was called
'My Lady's Chamber.' On the walls, the chairs,
Much yet remained of the rich tapestry;
Much of the adventures of SIR LANCELOT
In the green glades of some enchanted wood.
The toilet-table was of silver wrought,
Florentine Art, when Florence was renowned;
A gay confusion of the elements,

Dolphins and boys, and shells and fruits and flowers:
And from the ceiling, in his gilded cage,

Hung a small bird of curious workmanship,
That, when his Mistress bade him, would unfold
(So says the babbling Dame, Tradition, there)
His emerald-wings, and sing and sing again

The song that pleased her. While I stood and looked,

A gleam of day yet lingering in the West,

The Steward went on. "She had ('tis now long since) A gentle serving-maid, the fair CRISTINE,

Fair as a lily, and as spotless too;

None so admired, beloved. They had grown up