For he and he only with wisdom is blest Who, gathering true pleasures wherever they grow, XIX. AT FLORENCE. UNDER the shadow of a stately Pile, I stood, and gazed upon a marble stone, The mind, depressed by thought of greatness flown ΧΧ. BEFORE THE PICTURE OF THE BAPTIST, BY RAPHAEL, IN THE GALLERY AT FLORENCE. THE Baptist might have been ordained to cry Forth from the towers of that huge Pile, wherein His father served Jehovah; but how win The obstinate pride and wanton revelry And folly, if they with united din Drown not at once mandate and prophecy? Therefore the Voice spake from the Desert, thence To her, as to her opposite in peace, Silence, and holiness, and innocence, To her and to all lands its warning sent, Crying with earnestness that might not cease, "Make straight a highway for the Lord, ― repent!" XXI. AT FLORENCE. FROM MICHAEL ANGELO. RAPT above earth by power of one fair face, Thus, if from two fair eyes mine cannot turn, I feel how in their presence doth abide Light which to God is both the way and guide, That through the realms of glory shines for aye. XXII. AT FLORENCE. FROM MICHAEL ANGELO. ETERNAL Lord! eased of a cumbrous load, The crown of thorns, hands pierced upon the tree, XXIII. AMONG THE RUINS OF A CONVENT IN THE APENNINES. YE Trees! whose slender roots entwine Altars that piety neglects; Whose infant arms enclasp the shrine Which no devotion now respects; 223 If not a straggler from the herd Here ruminate, nor shrouded bird, Chanting her low-voiced hymn, take pride Man's headstrong violence and Time's fleetness, Making the precincts ye adorn Appear to sight still more forlorn. XXIV. IN LOMBARDY. SEE, where his difficult way that Old Man wins, Bent by a load of Mulberry leaves! most hard Appears his lot, to the small Worm's compared, but the Worm, Both pass into new being; Transfigured, sinks into a hopeless grave; XXV. AFTER LEAVING ITALY. FAIR Land! Thee all men greet with joy; how few, Whose souls take pride in freedom, virtue, fame, Part from thee without pity dyed in shame: I could not, while from Venice we withdrew, - Led on till an Alpine strait confined our view (Too aptly emblemed by that torpid lake,) Be its depths quickened; what thou dost inherit Of the world's hopes, dare to fulfil; awake, Mother of Heroes, from thy death-like sleep! XXVI. CONTINUED. As indignation mastered grief, my tongue |