In beauty clothed, or breathing sweetness
From fractured arch and mouldering wall-
Do but more touchingly recal

Man's headstrong violence and Time's fleetness,

SEE, where his difficult way that Old Man wins
Bent by a load of Mulberry leaves !—most hard
Appears his lot, to the small Worm's compared,
For whom his toil with early day begins.
Acknowledging no task-master, at will
(As if her labour and her ease were twins)
She seems to work, at pleasure to lie still;-
And softly sleeps within the thread she spins.
So fare they the Man serving as her Slave.
Ere long their fates do each to each conform :
Both pass into new being, but the Worm,
Transfigured, sinks into a hopeless grave;
His volant Spirit will, he trusts, ascend
To bliss unbounded, glory without end.

1 1845.

And make

XXV.

AFTER LEAVING ITALY.

1842.

may

still

[I had proof in several instances that the Carbonari, if I call them so, and their favourers, are opening their eyes to the necessity of patience, and are intent upon spreading knowledge actively but quietly as they can. May they have resolution to continue in this

course! for it is the only one by which they can truly benefit their country. We left Italy by the way which is called the "Nuova Strada de Allmagna," to the east of the high passes of the Alps, which take you at once from Italy into Switzerland. This road leads across several smaller heights, and winds down different vales in succession, so that it was only by the accidental sound of a few German words that I was aware we had quitted Italy, and hence the unwelcome shock alluded to in the two or three last lines of the latter sonnet.]

FAIR Land! Thee all men greet with joy; how few,
Whose souls take pride in freedom, virtue, fame,
l'art from thee without pity dyed in shame:
I could not-while from Venice we withdrew,
Led on till an Alpine strait confined our view *
Within its depths, and to the shore we came
Of Lago Morto, dreary sight and name,
Which o'er sad thoughts a sadder colouring threw.
Italia! on the surface of thy spirit,

(Too aptly emblemed by that torpid lake)
Shall a few partial breezes only creep?—
Be its depths quickened; what thou dost inherit
Of the world's hopes, dare to fulfil; awake,
Mother of Heroes, from thy death-like sleep!

XXVI.

CONTINUED.

As indignation mastered grief, my tongue
Spake bitter words; words that did ill agree
With those rich stores of Nature's imagery,
And divine Art, that fast to memory clung-
Thy gifts, magnificent Region, ever young
In the sun's eye, and in his sister's sight

They left Venice by the nuova strada de Allmagna, resting at Logerone, Sillian, Spittal (in Carinthia), and thence on to Salzburg.—ED.

How beautiful! how worthy to be sung
In strains of rapture, or subdued delight!
I feign not; witness that unwelcome shock
That followed the first sound of German speech,
Caught the far-winding barrier Alps among.
In that announcement, greeting seemed to mock*
Parting; the casual word had power to reach
My heart, and filled that heart with conflict strong.

AT BOLOGNA, IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE LATE INSURRECTIONS, 1837.t

AH why deceive ourselves! by no mere fit
Of sudden passion roused shall men attain
True freedom where for ages they have lain
Bound in a dark abominable pit,

With life's best sinews more and more unknit.
Here, there, a banded few who loathe the chain
May rise to break it: effort worse than vain
For thee, O great Italian nation, split
Into those jarring fractions.-Let thy scope
Be one fixed mind for all; thy rights approve
To thy own conscience gradually renewed;
Learn to make Time the father of wise Hope;
Then trust thy cause to the arm of Fortitude,
The light of Knowledge, and the warmth of Love.

See the Fenwick note to the last sonnet.-ED.

+ The three sonnets, At Bologna, in remembrance of the late Insurrections, 1837, are printed as a sequel to the Italian Tour of that year. Wordsworth placed them amongst his "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order."-ED.

HARD task! exclaim the undisciplined, to lean
On Patience coupled with such slow endeavour
That long-lived servitude must last for ever.
Perish the grovelling few, who, prest between
Wrongs and the terror of redress, would wean
Millions from glorious aims. Our chains to sever
Let us break forth in tempest now or never!-
What, is there then no space for golden mean
And gradual progress ?-Twilight leads to day,
And, even within the burning zones of earth,
The hastiest sunrise yields a temperate ray;
The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth:
Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes,
She scans the future with the eye of gods.

As leaves are to the tree whereon they grow

And wither, every human generation

Is to the Being of a mighty nation,

Locked in our world's embrace through weal and woe;
Thought that should teach the zealot to forego

Rash schemes, to abjure all selfish agitation,
And seek through noiseless pains and moderation
The unblemished good they only can bestow.
Alas! with most who weigh futurity

Against time present, passion holds the scales:
Hence equal ignorance of both prevails.

And nations sink; or, struggling to be free,

Are doomed to flounder on, like wounded whales
Tossed on the bosom of a stormy sea.

WHAT if our numbers barely could defy
The arithmetic of babes, must foreign hordes,
Slaves, vile as ever were befooled by words,
Striking through English breasts the anarchy
Of Terror, bear us to the ground, and tie
Our hands behind our backs with felon cords?
Yields every thing to discipline of swords?
Is man as good as man, none low, none high ?——
Nor discipline nor valour can withstand
The shock, nor quell the inevitable rout,
When in some great extremity breaks out
A people, on their own beloved Land
Risen, like one man, to combat in the sight
Of a just God for liberty and right.

[These verses were thrown off extempore upon leaving Mrs Luff's house at Fox Ghyll one evening. The good woman is not disposed to look at the bright side of things, and there happened to be present certain ladies who had reached the point of life where youth is ended, and who seemed to contend with each other in expressing their dislike of the country and climate. One of them had been heard to say she could not endure a country where there was "neither sunshine nor cavaliers."]

* These verses originally appeared in The Tribute, a volume edited by Lord Northampton in 1837 for the benefit of the widow and family of the Rev. Edward Smedley. The volume contains a poem by Southey on Brough Bells which was not republished.-ED.