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Were but a surface ready to unclose. Naples! how doth thy country likeness bear To human passions; fertile, sulphurous: Its dangers and its pleasures both seem born Of those inflamed volcanoes, which bestow Upon the atmosphere so many charms, Yet bid the thunder growl beneath our feet.

Pliny but studied nature that the more He might love Italy; and call'd his land The loveliest, when all other titles fail’d. He sought for science as a warrior seeks For conquest: it was from this very cape He went to watch Vesuvius through the flames:— Those flames consumed him.

O Memory! noble power! thy reign is here. Strange destiny, how thus, from age to age, Doth man complain of that which he has lost. Still do departed years, each in their turn, Seem treasures of happiness gone by; And while mind, joyful in its far advance, Plunges amid the future, still the Soul Seems to regret some other ancient home To which it is drawn closer by the past.

We envy Roman grandeur—did they not Envy their fathers' brave simplicity? Once this voluptuous country they despised; Its pleasures but subdued their enemies. See, in the distance, Capua! she o'ercame The warrior, whose firm soul resisted Rome More time than did a world.

The Romans in their turn dwelt on these plains, When strength of mind but only served to feel More deeply shame and grief; effeminate, They sank without remorse. Yet Baiæ saw The conquer'd sea give place to palaces: Columns were dug from mountains rent in twain, And the world's masters, now in their turn slaves, Made nature subject to console themselves That they were subject too.

And Cicero on this promontory died: This Gaëta we see. Ah! no regard Those triumvirs paid to posterity, Robbing her of the thoughts yet unconceived