Were but a surface ready to unclose.
Naples! how doth thy country likeness bear
To human passions; fertile, sulphurous:
Its dangers and its pleasures both seem born
Of those inflamed volcanoes, which bestow
Upon the atmosphere so many charms,
Yet bid the thunder growl beneath our feet.
Pliny but studied nature that the more
He might love Italy; and call'd his land
The loveliest, when all other titles fail’d.
He sought for science as a warrior seeks
For conquest: it was from this very cape
He went to watch Vesuvius through the flames:—
Those flames consumed him.
O Memory! noble power! thy reign is here.
Strange destiny, how thus, from age to age,
Doth man complain of that which he has lost.
Still do departed years, each in their turn,
Seem treasures of happiness gone by;
And while mind, joyful in its far advance,
Plunges amid the future, still the Soul
Seems to regret some other ancient home
To which it is drawn closer by the past.
We envy Roman grandeur—did they not
Envy their fathers' brave simplicity?
Once this voluptuous country they despised;
Its pleasures but subdued their enemies.
See, in the distance, Capua! she o'ercame
The warrior, whose firm soul resisted Rome
More time than did a world.
The Romans in their turn dwelt on these plains,
When strength of mind but only served to feel
More deeply shame and grief; effeminate,
They sank without remorse. Yet Baiæ saw
The conquer'd sea give place to palaces:
Columns were dug from mountains rent in twain,
And the world's masters, now in their turn slaves,
Made nature subject to console themselves
That they were subject too.
And Cicero on this promontory died:
This Gaëta we see. Ah! no regard
Those triumvirs paid to posterity,
Robbing her of the thoughts yet unconceived
