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Tho' dimm'd thy brightness, rivetted thy chain, Yet, fallen Italy! rejoice again! Lost, lovely Realm! once more 'tis thine to gaze On the rich relics of sublimer days.

Awake, ye Muses of Etrurian shades, Or sacred Tivoli's romantic glades; Wake, ye that slumber in the bowery gloom, Where the wild ivy shadows Virgil's tomb; Or ye, whose voice, by Sorga's lonely wave, Swell'd the deep echoes of the fountain's cave, Or thrill'd the soul in Tasso's numbers high, Those magic strains of love and chivalry; If yet by classic streams ye fondly rove, Haunting the myrtle vale, the laurel-grove; Oh! rouse once more the daring soul of song, Seize with bold hand the harp, forgot so long,