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Landscapes, by colouring drest in richer dyes, More mellowed sunshine, more unclouded skies; Or dreams of bliss, to dying Martyrs given, Descending Seraphs, robed in beams of heaven.

Oh! sovereign Masters of the Pencil's might, Its depth of shadow, and its blaze of light, Ye, whose bold thought disdaining every bound, Explored the worlds above, below, around, Children of Italy! who stand alone, And unapproached, 'midst regions all your own; What scenes, what beings blest your gifted sight, Severely grand, unutterably bright! Triumphant spirits! your exulting eye, Could meet the noontide of eternity, And gaze untired, undaunted, uncontrolled, On all that Fancy trembles to behold.