O Italy! amid thy ruins grey The pilgrim oft will pass, and pausing sigh, To see such beings shame thy mightier day— Slaves, in the sight of Rome — of liberty! Thus DRYDEN sang, with corn and laurel wreathed— An oaten quill he bore within his hand; And VIRGIL'S lays in other language breathed The wars and tillage of Ausonia's land. But not to such alone aspired his mind— Of language strong, original in thought— Severe, yet true, critic and friend combined; To him the Muse, by stricter rules untaught, From SHAKESPEARE had descended as a rugged stone To which subduing time could lustre give alone! 1830.
