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When once we have left Genoa behind us, and have taken our last look of the blue Mediterranean, I shall indeed feel that we have quitted Italy.  Piedmont is not Italy.  Cities which are only famous for their sieges and fortifications, plains only celebrated as fields of battle and scenes of blood, have neither charms nor interest for me.

On Monday we set off for Turin:  how I dread travelling! and the motion of the carriage, which has now become so painful!  Yet a little, a very little longer, and it will all be over.

      FAREWELL TO ITALY.

      Mira il ciel com’e bello, e mira il sole,
      Ch’a se par che n’inviti, e ne console.

    Farewell to the Land of the South! 
      Farewell to the lovely clime
    Where the sunny valleys smile in light,
      And the piny mountains climb!

    Farewell to her bright blue seas! 
      Farewell to her fervid skies! 
    O many and deep are the thoughts which crowd
      On the sinking heart, while it sighs,
      “Farewell to the Land of the South!”

    As the look of a face beloved,
      Was that bright land to me! 
    It enchanted my sense, it sunk on my heart
      Like music’s witchery! 
    In every kindling pulse
      I felt the genial air,
    For life is life in that sunny clime,
      —­’Tis death of life elsewhere: 
      Farewell to the Land of the South!

    The poet’s splendid dreams,
      Have hallowed each grove and hill,
    And the beautiful forms of ancient Faith
      Are lingering round us still. 
    And the spirits of other days,
      Invoked by fancy’s spell,
    Are rolled before the kindling thought,
      While we breathe our last farewell
      To the glorious Land of the South!

    A long—­a last adieu,
      Romantic Italy! 
    Thou land of beauty, and love, and song
      As once of the brave and free! 
    Alas! for thy golden fields! 
    Alas! for thy classic shore! 
    Alas! for thy orange and myrtle bowers! 
      I shall never behold them more—­
      Farewell to the Land of the South!

Turin, May 10th.—­We arrived here yesterday, after a journey to me most trying and painful:  I thought at Novi and afterwards at Asti, that I should have been obliged to give up and confess my inability to proceed; but we know not what we can bear till we prove ourselves; I can live and suffer still.

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