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Lui, folgorante in soglio,
Vide il mio genio, e tacque;
Quando con vice assidua
Cadde, risorse, e giacque,
Di mille voci al sonito

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Mista la sua non ha ;

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Vergin di servo encomio,
E di codardo oltraggio,
Sorge or commosso al subito
Sparir di tanto raggio,
E scioglie all'urna un cantico,

Che forse non morrà.

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Dall' Alpi alle Piramidi,
Dal Manzanarre al Rheno,
Di quel securo il fulmine
Scorrea dietro al baleno :
Scoppiò da Scilla a Tanai,

Dall' uno all'altro mar.
Fu vera gloria ? ai Posteri
L'ardua sentenza! Nui

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a

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Him, uninspir’d, my soul beheld,
Enthron'd in glory's glittering hall;
I mark'd him from his splendour flung,
Again to rise, again to fall;
And when a thousand harps were strung,
My voice the chorus never swell’d;
By servile flatt'ry ne'er disgrac’d,

By coward insult undebas’d.
But now, o'er such a planet's last eclipse,
She wakes, and haply not in vain,

From unpolluted lips,
Pours o'er the funeral urn a long-surviving strain.

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From Alpine heights to Egypt's shore,
From Rhine to Tagus, far around
Was heard his thunder's vengeful roar; 25

And Death was in the sound !
His red-wing'd lightning flash'd from Scylla's rock;
The frozen North re-echo'd to the shock.
Was this true glory ? let succeeding Time

That arduous question ask;

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Ours be the simpler task
Before the mighty Maker's throne to bow,

Who in that tow'ring genius deign’d to show
Of His Creator Spirit an image, how sublime !

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The stormy, tremulous delight

Of some exalted plan ;
The fever of the haughty soul

Of more than mortal scope:
Scarce curb’d to serve, with eager scan
Still fix'd on Empire as its goal ;
And reaching such a dizzy height
'Twere madness to have dar’d to hope-

All this he knew; he too had known
The blaze of glory, brighter from defeat ;
The flight — the victory—the throne -

The Exile's lone retreat ;
Twice in the dust; and twice, in sterner pride,
A god, by countless myriads deified.

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He comes : two centuries are seen

Array'd in hostile arms to stand;

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Sommessi a lui si volsero,
Come aspettando il fato :
Ei fè silenzio, ed arbitro

S'assise in mezzo a lor.
E

sparve; e i dì nell'ozio Chiuse in sì breve sponda, Segno d'immensa invidia, E di pietà profonda ; D'inestinguibil odio,

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