Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/320

284 CIX.

But let me quit Man's works, again to read

His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend

This page, which from my reveries I feed,

Until it seems prolonging without end.

The clouds above me to the white Alps tend,

And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er

May be permitted, as my steps I bend

To their most great and growing region, where

The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air.

CX.

Italia too! Italia! looking on thee,

Full flashes on the Soul the light of ages,

Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee,

To the last halo of the Chiefs and Sages

Who glorify thy consecrated pages;

Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still,