68
TO ITALY,
ON THE DIVINE SINGING OF
MADAME CATALANI.
Not that thy Beauty from the Tramontanes
Is fenc'd by Mountains of eternal Snow;
Not that great Jove into the silver Po
Struck Phaëton, that lost the Solar Reins;
Not that the golden Orange on thy Plains,
And fatt'ning Olives in full Sweetness blow;
Nor that thy Lakes into Avernus go,
While sparkling Summer on their Surface reigns;
No; nor that that enlighten'd Hill[1] doth shine,
The Torch of Nature, through the radiant Night,
Can make thy Coast, O Italy, divine:
But this thy Glory, this thy sacred Light;
That Catalani, whom all Tongues incline
To speak immortal, is by Birth thy Right.
Is fenc'd by Mountains of eternal Snow;
Not that great Jove into the silver Po
Struck Phaëton, that lost the Solar Reins;
Not that the golden Orange on thy Plains,
And fatt'ning Olives in full Sweetness blow;
Nor that thy Lakes into Avernus go,
While sparkling Summer on their Surface reigns;
No; nor that that enlighten'd Hill[1] doth shine,
The Torch of Nature, through the radiant Night,
Can make thy Coast, O Italy, divine:
But this thy Glory, this thy sacred Light;
That Catalani, whom all Tongues incline
To speak immortal, is by Birth thy Right.
- ↑ Vesuvius
