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THE MEDITERRANEAN.
And thy blue waters with her phantasy;
And fabled gods left heaven to roam by thee:
There she embodied passions of the heart,
In such fair forms, that frail mortality
Failed to conceive, until triumphal Art
Bade from the Parian stone the immortal image start.
And fabled gods left heaven to roam by thee:
There she embodied passions of the heart,
In such fair forms, that frail mortality
Failed to conceive, until triumphal Art
Bade from the Parian stone the immortal image start.
The loftiest bards, whose names illume the past,
Have sung upon thy shores; and thy deep tone
Ceased at their Orphean lyres;—but now the last,
“The pilgrim bard,” whose matchless song alone
Had made thy name immortal as his own,—
A stranger of the north, but, “as it were
A child of thee,” his spirit too hath flown.
Thus have the greatest passed. Thine azure air
Still echoes to their song, but thou alone art there.
Have sung upon thy shores; and thy deep tone
Ceased at their Orphean lyres;—but now the last,
“The pilgrim bard,” whose matchless song alone
Had made thy name immortal as his own,—
A stranger of the north, but, “as it were
A child of thee,” his spirit too hath flown.
Thus have the greatest passed. Thine azure air
Still echoes to their song, but thou alone art there.
Thine empires, one by one, have fall’n, and now
The last is crumbling in decay:—yes, she,
The coronet upon thy furrowed brow,
The mistress of the world, the queen of thee,
The paradise of earth, sweet Italy;
Stript of her queenly robes, in dust she lies,
Enchained by slaves, nor struggling to be free.
There hath she fallen, as the dolphin dies,
More brightly beautiful in her last agonies.
The last is crumbling in decay:—yes, she,
The coronet upon thy furrowed brow,
The mistress of the world, the queen of thee,
The paradise of earth, sweet Italy;
Stript of her queenly robes, in dust she lies,
Enchained by slaves, nor struggling to be free.
There hath she fallen, as the dolphin dies,
More brightly beautiful in her last agonies.
