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ILLUMINATIONS OF ST. PETER'S.

THE SAME.

TRANSLATED BY C. J. M'C.

TEMPIO ! che 'l ciel con quest' angusto mondo
E 'l tempo coll' eternità mariti,

Dì quai bellezze nuove il viso inondo
Or che mite e fral tu lo sguardo inviti!
Sorridon sciolti sotto vel profondo

Quei tratti già da fermo sasso uniti,
Tela di luce sol ti fa giocondo,-
Sol di gemme, dì fiamma, e' son vestiti.
Eppur che gioia nel pensier segreto
Che quando l' avide Ore e l' invidioso
Sol spegneran quel fregio, or si pomposo,
Tu non perciò vedrai a te rovina,
Ma sempre stai eterno e chiaro e lieto,
Or divin sogno, or realtà divina!

II.

SECOND ILLUMINATION.

My heart was resting with a peaceful gaze,
So peaceful that it seemed I well could die
Entranced before such Beauty, when a cry
Burst from me, and I sunk in dumb amaze :

The molten stars before a withering blaze
Paled to annihilation, and my eye,

Stunned by the splendour, saw against the sky

Nothing but light,—sheer light,—and light's own haze.
At last that giddying Sight took form,—and then
Appeared the stable Vision of a Crown,

From the black vault by unseen Power let down,
Cross-topped, thrice girt with flame :-

:

Cities of men,

Queens of the Earth! bow low,-was ever brow
Of mortal birth adorned as Rome is now ?

III.

REFLECTION.

PAST is the first dear phantom of our sight,
A loadstar of calm loveliness to draw

All souls from out this world of fault and flaw,
To a most perfect centre of delight,

Merged in deep fire ;-our joy is turned to awe,
Delight to wonder. This is just and right;—
A greater light puts out the lesser light,-
So be it ever, such is God's high law.

The self-same Sun that calls the flowers from earth
Withers them soon, to give the fruit free birth ;—

The nobler Spirit to whom much is given
Must take still more, though in that more there lie
The risk of losing All;-to gaze at Heaven,
We blind our earthly eyes ;-to live we die.

THE FIREWORKS

FROM THE CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO.

PLAY on, play on, I share your gorgeous glee,
Creatures of elemental mirth! play on,—
Let each fulfil his marvellous destiny,

My heart leaps up and falls in unison.

The Tower round which ye weave, with elfin grace, The modulations of your burning dance,

Looks through your gambols with a grandsire's face, A grave but not reproachful countenance;

Ye are the children of a festive night,

He is the mate of many an hundred years,—
Ye but attest men's innocent delight,

He is the comrade of their crimes and tears,-
Ye in your joys' pure prime will flare away,
He waits his end in still and slow decay.

ON THE MARRIAGE OF THE LADY GWENDOLIN TALBOT WITH THE ELDEST SON OF

THE PRINCE BORGHESE.

LADY! to decorate thy marriage-morn,

Rare gems, and flowers, and lofty songs are brought;
Thou the plain utterance of a Poet's thought,
Thyself at heart a Poet, wilt not scorn:

The name, into whose splendour thou wert born,
Thou art about to change for that which stands
Writ on the proudest work* that mortal hands
Have raised from earth, Religion to adorn.
Take it rejoicing,-take with thee thy dower,
Britain's best blood, and Beauty ever new,
Being of mind; may the cool northern dew
Still rest upon thy leaves, transplanted flower!
Mingling thy English nature, pure and true,
With the bright growth of each Italian hour.

Rome, May 11th, 1835.

*St. Peter's.

ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS BORGHESE, AT ROME, NOVEMBER, 1840.

ONCE, and but once again I dare to raise

A voice which thou in spirit still may'st hear,
Now that thy bridal bed becomes a bier,

Now that thou canst not blush at thine own praise!
The ways of God are not as our best ways,

And thus we ask, with a convulsive tear,
Why is this northern blossom low and sere?

Why has it blest the south but these few days?
Another Basilic,* decked otherwise

Than that which hailed thee as a princely bride,
Receives thee and three little ones beside ;
While the young lord of that late glorious home
Stands 'mid these ruins and these agonies,

Like some lone column of his native Rome!

* S. Maria Maggiore, where the Borghese family are interred.

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