And, as he gazed, his homestall through his tears Of war appearing in her bravery, A voice in anger cried,' Use all your strength!' But when, ah when, do they that can, forbear To crush the unresisting? Strange, that men, Creatures so frail, so soon, alas, to die, Should have the power, the will to make this world A dismal prison-house, and life itself, Life in its prime, a burden and a curse To him who never wronged them? Who that breathes Would not, when first he heard it, turn away As from a tale monstrous, incredible? Surely a sense of our mortality, A consciousness how soon we shall be gone, At length the day departed, and the moon Waters and woods and cloud-capt promontories, Scenes of Elysium, such as Night alone gone 'Twas where in the north-west, Still unassailed and unassailable, Thy pharos, GENOA, first displayed itself, When those now glowing in the azure vault (For we were now within a cable's length,) Among its golden groves and fruits of gold, And fountains scattering rainbows in the sky, Such, if not fairer; and, when we shot by, As with the radiance of a setting sun, The windows blazing. But we now approached A City far-renowned; and wonder ceased. GENOA. THIS house was ANDREA DORIA's. Here he lived; Held many a pleasant, many a grave discourse The reverence due to ancient dignity. He left it for a better; and 'tis now * The Piazza Doria, or, as it is now called, the Piazza di San Matteo, insignificant as it may be thought, is to me the most interesting place in Genoa. It was there that Doria assembled the people, when he gave them their liberty (Sigonii Vita Doria); and on one side of it is the church he lies buried in, on the other a house, originally of very small dimensions, with this inscription: S. C. Andreæ de Auria Patriæ Liberatori Munus Publicum. The streets of old Genoa, like those of Venice, were constructed only for foot-passengers. A house of trade,* the meanest merchandise 'Tis in the heart of GENOA (he who comes, Thy children, for they hailed thee as their sire; Nor couldst thou leave thy door or enter in, Thou art now Again among them. Thy brave mariners, * When I saw it in 1822, a basket-maker lived on the groundfloor and over him a seller of chocolate. T |