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Reft of each form with brighter life imbued, Lonely they frown'd, a desert solitude. Florence! th' Oppressor's noon of pride is o'er, Rise in thy pomp again, and weep no more!

As one, who, starting at the dawn of day From dark illusions, phantoms of dismay, With transport heighten'd by those ills of night, Hails the rich glories of expanding light; E'en thus, awak'ning from thy dream of woe, While Heaven's own hues in radiance round thee glow, With warmer ecstasy 'tis thine to trace Each tint of beauty, and each line of grace; More bright, more priz'd, more precious, since deplored, As lov'd, lost relics, ne'er to be restored, Thy grief as hopeless as the tear-drop shed, By fond affection bending o'er the dead.