Tho' dimm'd thy brightness, rivetted thy chain,
Yet, fallen Italy! rejoice again!
Lost, lovely realm! once more 'tis thine to gaze,
On the rich relics of sublimer days.
Awake, ye Muses of Etrurian shades,
Or sacred Tivoli's romantic glades;
Wake, ye that slumber in the bowery gloom,
Where the wild ivy shadows Virgil's tomb;
Or ye, whose voice, by Sorga's lonely wave,
Swell'd the deep echoes of the fountain's cave;
Oh! rouse once more the daring soul of song,
Seize with bold hand the harp, forgot so long;
And hail, with wonted pride, those works rever'd,
Hallow'd by time, by absence more endear'd.
Yes! fair creations, to perfection wrought,
Embodied visions of ascending thought!