MOONLIGHT.
21
Where now is Danté? in what region pure
Of that unbounded world he sung so well?
Or Petrarch, that to love was sworn to death?
Or Tasso, in whose stately verse we see
Whatever the great Roman was before?
Where is Malvezzi, in whose bitter sense
The World may smile at its own Tragedy?
Or, if we turn to England in our thought,
Tell me, where Chaucer may be found? or where
Sweet Spenser, that from rebels fled to death,
His heart quite broken with the faulty time?
Where now may Milton meditate? or he,
That sung the praises of a country life,
Himself condemn'd in cities to abide,
The rebel's foe, forsaken by his king,
Ingenuous Cowley? but, above them all,
Tell me, O Muse, for thou alone canst tell,
Where is immortal Shakspeare, at whose birth
Great Nature was expended to the lees,
And Death forsook his empire o'er the world?
Or that extravagant and erring soul,
Of that unbounded world he sung so well?
Or Petrarch, that to love was sworn to death?
Or Tasso, in whose stately verse we see
Whatever the great Roman was before?
Where is Malvezzi, in whose bitter sense
The World may smile at its own Tragedy?
Or, if we turn to England in our thought,
Tell me, where Chaucer may be found? or where
Sweet Spenser, that from rebels fled to death,
His heart quite broken with the faulty time?
Where now may Milton meditate? or he,
That sung the praises of a country life,
Himself condemn'd in cities to abide,
The rebel's foe, forsaken by his king,
Ingenuous Cowley? but, above them all,
Tell me, O Muse, for thou alone canst tell,
Where is immortal Shakspeare, at whose birth
Great Nature was expended to the lees,
And Death forsook his empire o'er the world?
Or that extravagant and erring soul,
