SONNET L.

TO ITALY, 1821.

His blood-stain'd sword the Goth hath drawn again!

Ye sons of Italy arise, arise,

And let that shout, which first from southern skies

Arose to Heaven for freedom, sound amain

Your battle-cry from mountain unto plain.

Oh! by the holy and eternal ties

Of common kindred, country, miseries,

See not your brother's blood pour'd forth in vain.

Shall tyrants only league for tyranny?

Nor freedom find in heav'n or earth ally?

From Alps to Appennines, from sea to sea,

Let but one hand, one heart, be rais'd on high,
And every hill and valley shall be free;

For nations never will'd that won not Liberty.

SONNET LI.

OH! 'tis not vain what the rapt poet sings,
That those we lov'd in life, in death attend
Our steps; in sorrow soothe, from ill defend;
Hovering like angels round, with noiseless wings;
Death cannot burst the bonds the heart which bind;
Beauty and goodness vanish not like breath;
And, thus belov'd, I love thee still in death,
Love thee with love as strong and more refin❜d :
Ever, and every where, thou meet'st mine eye;
Whether I roam at eve the grove's deep night,
Or seek the haunts of men, and day's broad light,

Still I behold thee, still I hear thee nigh;

And how more sweet than any living smiles,

This converse high, which ev'ry sense beguiles!

SONNET LII.

THOU wert, indeed, my bliss, my hope, my pride,

And Death has call'd thee ere thy day was done; With thee my bliss, my hope, my pride are gone; Yet Death who wrought this woe no more I chide. For thou, tho' fair and bright, hast laid aside An earthly frame, one brighter to put on, That shall not perish, and the meed hast won Of those who pure have liv'd and holy died. For me, hadst thou to earth been longer given, Too much perchance had earth my soul possess'd; Now every thought belongs to thee and heaven. This hope my prayer, in humbleness express'd, That God will join the bonds that he has riven, And bless in Paradise whom here he bless'd.

SONNET LIII.

TO W. WORDSWORTH, ESQ.

Suggested by his Sonnet beginning "While not a leaf seems faded," &c.

THOU, who, as from the quarry's purest vein,

Didst start to life robust in soul and frame,

Well may'st thou winter hail with glad acclaim,
And gird thy strength for nobler toils again;

Yet Bard, despise not Summer's gentler reign,

For tho' not hers the grander beauties wild
The storm, the cataract, the rock snow-pil'd,
Yet she has charms nor unrefin'd, nor vain.
For while each tree is green, and bright each flower,
Hence may Elysian scenes the Poet feign,

And should the nightingale approach his bower,

How doubly sweet at eve his love-lorn strain,

Nor thou, tho' free thyself, wilt love decry,
For mightiest lyres have own'd his majesty.

SONNET LIV.

ON PIERO CAPPONI, CHIEF SECRETARY OF FLORENCE, 1494.

This and the six following Sonnets were composed while the Author was reading Sismondi's History, with a view of embodying his vivid descriptions in verse.

STILL unoppos'd the Gaul holds on his way;

The Appennines, the bulwarks of the land,

Are past, and valleys green more wide expand;
The heir degenerate of Lorenzo's sway

Yields Town and Tower an unresisting prey;
And now amid that strange appalling band

His lance on thigh, see Charles in Florence stand,

And bid the free-born citizens obey.

Yet then, O Florence, did thy virtuous son

E'en at its height the conqueror's pride confound:

"Then be it so," he cried,

66 Our mission's done;

"The tocsin shall return the trumpet's sound."

Amaz'd the tyrant heard, and shrunk like one
Who in his path has sudden peril found.