Son. iii.

WITH equal steps, Italia, tow'rd their close
Approach the winter, and thine hours of life;

Nor know'st thou yet with what a storm of woes

For thee the clouds of destiny are rife.

But as the Nile pursues his hidden course,

Till all at once his mighty waters rise;

Ev'n so on thee in fury from their source
Shall burst the torrent of thy miseries.

Then shalt thou see, beneath that whelming tide
Shipwreck'd and sunk, thine over-jealous fears,
Thy helpless prudence and vainglorious pride!
Then see how weak disjointed pow'r appears!

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Then learn how vain the coward statesman's art, Who fears to guard the whole, yet hopes to save a part. 14

Son. iv.

SONO, Italia, per te discordia e morte.

In due nomi una cosa; e a sì gran male

Un mal s'aggiugne non minor, che frale
Non se'abbastanza nè abbastanza forte.

In tale stato, in così dubbia sorte

Ceder non piace, e contrastar non vale :
Onde come a mezz' aria impennan l' ale,
E a fiera pugna i venti apron le porte;
Tra 'l frale e 'l forte tuo non altrimenti

Nascon quasi a mezz' aria, e guerra fanno
D' ira, invidia e timor turbini e venti ;

E tai piovono in te nembi d' affanno,

Che se speri o disperi, osi o paventi,

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Diverso è 'l rischio, e sempre ugual fia 'l danno. 14

Son. iv.

FOR thee, Italia, Death and Discord are

Two names, one thing; and with this ill thou hast
Another greater; that too weak for war,
Thou art too strong to be in silence past.
In such perplexing state of doubt and care,
To yield is bitter, hopeless to contend :

Whence, as conflicting winds in middle air,

Now here, now there, their balanc'd pinions bend;
So mingled Jealousy, and Fear, and Rage,

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Self-pois'd between thy weakness and thy pow'r, 10
Within thy breast their whirlwind battle wage;

And down on thee such storms of mis'ry show'r,

That, hope-despair-or crouch, or nobly strike, Though varying still the risk, thy doom is seal'd alike! 14

Son. v.

QUANDO giù dai gran monti bruna bruna
Cade l'ombra, un pensiero a dir mi sforza:
S'accende altrove il dì, se qui si smorza;
Nè tutto a un tempo l'universo imbruna.
Indi esclamo: Qual notte atra importuna

Tutte l' ampie tue glorie a un tratto ammorza?
Glorie di senno, di valor, di forza

Già mille avesti; or non hai tu pur una.

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E in così buie tenebre non vedi

L'alto incendio di guerra, onde tutt' ardi?

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E non credi al tuo mal, se agli occhi credi?

Ma se tue stragi col soffrir ritardi,

Soffri, misera, soffri; indi a te chiedi
Se sia forse vittoria il perder tardi.

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Son. v.

WHEN darker still th' embrowning shade declines From the huge mountain-top, "our dying light,” Musing I cry, "on other nations shines, Nor reigns o'er all one universal night.” But thou, Italia! in what gloom departs The vanish'd glory of thy mid-day sun! Glories of wit and valour, arms and arts, All once were thine, and now remains not one! Amid such gloomy darkness, seest thou not The flame of war that kindles all around? Or dost thou see, nor yet believe thy lot? But if by suff'ring still delay be found, Yes, suffer still! yet shalt thou sometime see That death deferr'd awhile, is far from victory!

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