XL. Great as thou art, yet parallel'd by those, Then, not unequal to the Florentine, The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd forth A new creation with his magic line, And, like the Ariosto of the North, Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly worth. XLI. The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust (19) For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves (20) Whate'er it strikes ;-yon head is doubly sacred now. XLII. Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast (22) The fatal gift of beauty, which became On thy sweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame, Oh God! that thou wert in thy nakedness Less lovely or more powerful, and could'st claim Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress; XLIII. Then might'st thou more appal; or, less desired, Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored For thy destructive charms; then, still untired, Would not be seen the armed torrents pour'd Down the deep Alps; nor would the hostile horde Of many-nation'd spoilers from the Po Quaff blood and water; nor the stranger's sword Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, Victor or vanquish'd, thou the slave of friend or foe. XLIV. Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him, (23) And Corinth on the left; I lay reclined In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight; XLV... For Time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. XLVI. That page is now before me, and on mine Of perish'd states he mourn'd in their decline, Of then destruction is; and now, alas! Rome Rome imperial, bows her to the storm, Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. XLVII. Yet, Italy! through every other land Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side; Was then our guardian, and is still our guide; Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven! Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. XLVIII. But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps And buried Learning rose, redeem'd to a new morn. XLIX. There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills (25) The air around with beauty; we inhale The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils Part of its immortality; the veil Of heaven is half undrawn; within the pale We stand, and in that form and face behold What Mind can make, when Nature's self would fail; And to the fond idolaters of old Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould: |