Among the foremost in that glorious field;
From first to last; and, ardent as thou art,
Held on with equal step as best became
A lofty mind, loftiest when most assailed;
Never, though galled by many a barbed shaft,
By many a bitter taunt from friend and foe,
Swerving or shrinking. Happy in thy Youth,
Thy Youth the dawn of a long summer-day;
But in thy Age still happier; thine to earn
The gratitude of millions yet unborn ;1
Thine to conduct, through ways how difficult,
A mighty people in their march sublime

From Good to Better. Great thy recompense, When in their eyes thou read'st what thou hast done;

And may'st thou long enjoy it; may'st thou long
Preserve for them what still they claim as theirs,
That generous fervour and pure eloquence,
Thine from thy birth and Nature's noblest gifts,
To guard what They have gained!

WRITTEN IN 1834.

ELL, when her day is over, be it said That, though a speck on the terrestrial globe,

Found with long search and in a mo-
ment lost,

She made herself a name-a name to live
While science, eloquence, and song divine,
And wisdom, in self-government displayed,
And valour, such as only in the Free,
Shall among men be honoured.

[ to be (MS. corr.) ]

Every sea

Was covered with her sails; in every port
Her language spoken; and, where'er you went,
Exploring, to the east or to the west,

Even to the rising or the setting day,

Her arts and laws and institutes were there,
Moving with silent and majestic march,

Onward and onward, where no path-way was;
There her adventurous sons, like those of old,
Founding vast empires empires in their turn
Destined to shine thro' many a distant age
With sun-like splendour.

Wondrous was her wealth,

The world itself her willing tributary;

Yet, to accomplish what her soul desired,
All was as nothing; and the mightiest kings,
Each in his hour of strife exhausted, fallen,
Drew strength from Her, their coffers from her own
Filled to o'erflowing, When her fleets of war
Had swept the main-had swept it and were gone,
Gone from the eyes and from the minds of men,
Their dreadful errands so entirely done—
Up rose her armies; on the land they stood,
Fearless, erect; and in an instant smote
Him with his legions.2

Yet ere long 'twas hers,
Great as her triumphs, to eclipse them all,
To do what none had done, none had conceived,
An act how glorious, making joy in Heaven;
When, such her prodigality, condemned

1 North America speaks for itself; and so indeed may we say of India, when such a territory is ours in a region so remote; when s company of merchants, from such small beginnings, have established a dominion so absolute-a dominion over a people for ages civilized and cultivated, while we were yet in the woods.

2 Alluding to the battle of Waterloo. The illustrious man who commanded there on our side, and who, in his anxiety to do justice to others, never fails to forget himself, said to me many years afterwards with some agitation, when relating an occurrence of that day, "It was a battle of giants! a battle of giants!"

To toil and toil, alas, how hopelessly,
Herself in bonds, for ages unredeemed-

As with a god-like

energy she sprung,

All else forgot, and, burdened as she was,
Ransomed the African.1

1 Parliament had only to register the edict of the people.

CHANNING.

[THE first part of this Poem was published in 1822. A few years later the second part was added. It was revised throughout and further additions were made from time to time; and in its Author's opinion the first complete Edition was that of 1834.]

PREFACE.

IN this Poem the Author has endeavoured to describe his Journey through a beautiful country; and it may not perhaps be uninteresting to those who have learnt to live in Past Times as well as Present, and whose minds are familiar with the Events and the People that have rendered Italy so illustrious; for, wherever he came, he could not but remember; nor is he conscious of having slept over any ground that has been "dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue."

Much of it was originally published as it was written on the spot, He has since, on a second visit, revised it throughout, and added many stories from the old Chroniclers and many Notes illustrative of the manners, customs, and superstitions there.

AY glimmered in the east, and the white Moon

Hung like a vapour in the cloudless sky,

Yet visible, when on my way I went,

Glad to be gone; a pilgrim from the North,
Now more and more attracted as I

drew

Nearer and nearer. Ere the artizan

Had from his window leant, drowsy, half-clad,
To snuff the morn, or the caged lark poured forth,
From his green sod upspringing as to heaven,
(His tuneful bill o'erflowing with a song
Old in the days of Homer, and his wings

vent,

With transport quivering) on my way I went,
Thy gates, Geneva, swinging heavily,
Thy gates so slow to open, swift to shut;
As on that Sabbath-eve when He arrived,1
Whose name is now thy glory, now by thee,
Such virtue dwells in those small syllables,
Inscribed to consecrate the narrow street,
His birth-place, when, but one short step too late,
In his despair, as though the die were cast,

He flung him down to weep, and wept till dawn;
Then rose to go, a wanderer through the world.

'Tis not a tale that every hour brings with it. Yet at a City-gate, from time to time, Much may be learnt; nor, London, least at thine, Thy hive the busiest, greatest of them all, Gathering, enlarging still. Let us stand by, And note who passes. Here comes one, a Youth, Glowing with pride, the pride of conscious power, A Chatterton-in thought admired, caressed, And crowned like Petrarch in the Capitol; Ere long to die, to fall by his own hand, And fester with the vilest. Here come two, Less feverish, less exalted-s —soon to part, A Garrick and a Johnson; Wealth and Fame Awaiting one, even at the gate; Neglect And Want the other. But what multitudes, Urged by the love of change, and, like myself, Adventurous, careless of to-morrow's fare, Press on-though but a rill entering the sea, Entering and lost! Our task would never end.

Day glimmered and I went, a gentle breeze Ruffling the Leman Lake. Wave after wave, If such they might be called, dashed as in sport,

1 J.-J. ROUSSEAU. "J'arrive essoufflé, tout en nage; le cœur me bat; je vois de loin les soldats à leur poste; j'accours, je crie d'une voix étouffée. Il étoit trop tard."-Les Confessions, 1. i.