Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 40 1834.pdf/28



[Amongst the minor poems of Italy, the tone of which is in general plaintive and languishing, there are found occasional breathings of patriotic sorrow or indignation, which strike upon the spirit like the thrilling summons of a trumpet piercing through the melodies of flute and guitar. The celebrated "Italia, Italia!" of Filicaja will be remembered by every student; but there are other effusions of similar character, scarcely inferior in awakening energy, and penetrated with the deepest feelings of the "Servi ancor frementi." A few of these are here presented to the reader.]

aloud and ye shall hear my call— Arno, Tesino, Tiber!—Adrian deep, And blue Tyrrhene! Let him, first roused from sleep, Startle the next—one peril broods o'er all!

It nought avails that Italy should plead, Forgetting valour, sinking in despair, At strangers' feet!—our land is all too fair, Nor tears nor prayers can check ambition's speed.

In vain her faded cheek—her humbled eye, For pardon sue; 'tis not her agony, Her death alone may now appease her foes. Be theirs to suffer who to combat shun! But oh! weak pride, thus feeble and undone— Nor to wage battle, nor endure repose!