Thou who hast scann’d, to heap a treasure fair,
    Story of ancient day and modern time,
    Soaring with earthly frame to heaven sublime,
    Thou know’st, from Mars’ bold son, her ruler prime,
    To great Augustus, he whose waving hair
    Was thrice in triumph wreathed with laurel green,
    How Rome hath of her blood still lavish been
    To right the woes of many an injured land;
    And shall she now be slow,
    Her gratitude, her piety to show? 
    In Christian zeal to buckle on the brand,
    For Mary’s glorious Son to deal the blow? 
    What ills the impious foeman must betide
    Who trust in mortal hand,
    If Christ himself lead on the adverse side!

      And turn thy thoughts to Xerxes’ rash emprize,
    Who dared, in haste to tread our Europe’s shore,
    Insult the sea with bridge, and strange caprice;
    And thou shalt see for husbands then no more
    The Persian matrons robed in mournful guise,
    And dyed with blood the seas of Salamis,
    Nor sole example this: 
    (The ruin of that Eastern king’s design),
    That tells of victory nigh: 
    See Marathon, and stern Thermopylae,
    Closed by those few, and chieftain leonine,
    And thousand deeds that blaze in history. 
    Then bow in thankfulness both heart and knee
    Before his holy shrine,
    Who such bright guerdon hath reserved for thee.

      Thou shalt see Italy and that honour’d shore,
    O song! a land debarr’d and hid from me
    By neither flood nor hill! 
    But love alone, whose power hath virtue still
    To witch, though all his wiles be vanity,
    Nor Nature to avoid the snare hath skill. 
    Go, bid thy sisters hush their jealous fears,
    For other loves there be
    Than that blind boy, who causeth smiles and tears.

    MISS * * * (FOSCOLO’S ESSAY).

      O thou, in heaven expected, bright and blest,
    Spirit! who, from the common frailty free
    Of human kind, in human form art drest,
    God’s handmaid, dutiful and dear to thee
    Henceforth the pathway easy lies and plain,
    By which, from earth, we bless eternal gain: 
    Lo! at the wish, to waft thy venturous prore
    From the blind world it fain would leave behind
    And seek that better shore,
    Springs the sweet comfort of the western wind,
    Which safe amid this dark and dangerous vale,
    Where we our own, the primal sin deplore,
    Right on shall guide her, from her old chains freed,
    And, without let or fail,
    Where havens her best hope, to the true East shall lead.

      Haply the suppliant tears of pious men,
    Their earnest vows and loving prayers at last
    Unto the throne of heavenly grace have past;
    Yet, breathed by human helplessness, ah! when
    Had purest orison the skill