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DISPARAGEMENT OF EARTHLY GLORY.

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OH, vanquish'd oft, but never quite subdued,
Desire of Glory, child of mortal birth,
That art all earth thyself, and earth thy food,
And mak’st thy subjects, like thyself, all earth!
Oh, what avails it, that with constant toil
I strive, and stifle thee within my breast ; heant
If still thy contact with thy native soil
Fresh strength and life, Antæus-like, impart ?
That soil accurst, my own too fond conceit;
Whence could I tear thee once, and so destroy,
Then would I celebrate that glorious feat
With far more triumph, more exulting joy,

Than Hercules on Libya's plains could know,
When he Antæus slew, a far less dang’rous foe.

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14

VILLEGIATURA DI PRIMAVERA.

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Io son si

vago
dell

orror natío
Di questi alpestri e solitari colli,
Che non fian gli occhi mai stanchi o satolli

Di mandarne l'imago al pensier mio.
Crescer qui l' erbe nuove, e qui vegg'io

Spuntar sul tronco i giovani rampolli;
E alle verd' ombre di rugiada molli

Spegner la sete, e farsi specchio il rio.
Qui le reliquie de' miei giorni al lido

Traggo; e quei germi che 'l maligno suolo

Di mia mente nodri, svello e recido:
E dei passati error, pensoso e solo,

Mentre l' istoria in ogni tronco incido,
Di pianto il bagno; e vi germoglia il duolo.

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14

COUNTRY IN SPRING.

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These lonely hills possess such charms for me,
These glades in all their native wildness dress’d,
That day by day unwearied still I see,
And plant their image in my thoughtful breast.
Pleas'd, I behold the new-born verdure grow,
The tender shoots put forth their leafy green;
Or sit beside the stream, whose limpid flow
Bathes, and reflects at once, the forest scene.
Here all unseen, long tranquil days I lead;
Here from my heart's pernicious soil I cast
Each evil thought, each noxious mental weed :
Here muse in silence o'er my errors past;

And on some tree my self-inflicted woes
Record, and bathe with tears; and there repentance grows !

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1823.

MANZONI.

IL CINQUE DI MAGGIO.

5

Ei fù ! --siccome immobile,
Dato il mortal sospiro
Stette la spoglia immemore
Orba di tanto spiro;
Così percossa, attonita,

La terra al nunzio sta;
Muta pensando all'ultima
Ora dell' uom fatale,
Nè sa quando una simile
Orma di piè mortale
La sua cruenta polvere

A calpestar verrà.

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MANZONI

THE FIFTH OF MAY.

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'Tis past; as, motionless and pale,
The mortal struggle o’er, but late
With that proud spirit animate,

Now lies the senseless clay:

So, awe-struck, in dismay,
Earth stands in breathless trance, and listens to the tale.

That fated Mortal's dying hour
She muses o'er, and ponders when
With iron heel such earthly pow'r
Shall tread her bloodstain’d fields again.

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