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DAY-DAWN IN ITALY.
DAY-DAWN IN ITALY.
Italia! in thy bleeding heart,
I thought, e’en hope was dead;
That from thy scarred and prostrate form,
The spark of life had fled.
I thought, e’en hope was dead;
That from thy scarred and prostrate form,
The spark of life had fled.
I thought, as Memory’s sunset glow
Its radiance o’er thee cast,
That all thy glory and thy fame
Were buried in the past.
Its radiance o’er thee cast,
That all thy glory and thy fame
Were buried in the past.
Twice Mistress of the world! I thought
Thy star had set in gloom;
That all thy shrines and monuments
Were but thy spirit’s tomb.
Thy star had set in gloom;
That all thy shrines and monuments
Were but thy spirit’s tomb.
The mausoleum of the world,
Where Art her spoils might keep;
Where pilgrims from all shrines might come,
To wonder and to weep.
Where Art her spoils might keep;
Where pilgrims from all shrines might come,
To wonder and to weep.
