COUNTRY IN SPRING.

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

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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!

1823.

MANZONI.

IL CINQUE DI MAGGIO.

Er 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.

'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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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.

From Alpine heights to Egypt's shore,

From Rhine to Tagus, far around

Was heard his thunder's vengeful roar;

And Death was in the sound!

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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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