But for a daughter's love, the same sad gloom
That
wraps

the senses would the mind entomb.
Thou, fond one, at his side art ever near,
His wants to aid, his solitude to cheer:
A skill is thine, a patience nought can tire,
By finger-speech to commune with thy sire;
By touches light and nimble to convey
Whatever pen could write or tongue could say.
From silent darkness thou hast set him free;
Thou mak'st the deaf to hear, the blind to see.
Thus, ere the Christian breathes his latest sigh,
An Angel to the lonely couch draws nigh,
There, whispering peace and comfort to the breast,
His trouble and his sorrow lulls to rest,
And, earthly mist dispelling from the sight,
The prospect opens of eternal light.

Absque te foret atque amore fido,
Par sensus animumque nox teneret.
Tu solatia, tu levamen ægro
Custos et comes assidens ministras;
Palmâ tu digitisque! miram enim artem
Contactu varioque mobilique
Exerces, vice functa nunc loquentis,
Nunc lecto recitantis e libello.
Ergo illi taciturnitas, tenebræ
Solvuntur : sonus est in aure surdâ ;
Cæco lux patefacta. Sic suprema
Quandocunque pio propinquat hora,
Soli stat super angelus cubili,
Et suavissima pectori susurrans
Luctum et solicitudinem serenat,
Et spes erigit ad beatiores
Pandens æthera januamque coeli.

ITALIA ANTIQUA.

[The greater part of this Ode is taken from one which obtained the Gold

Medal at Cambridge.]

Lugere terram quid facit Italam?
Non aura tetro polluit halitu,

Non bruma devastavit agros,

Aut nebulâ malus urget æther :

Non flos in horto, non rosa virginis
Pallescit ori; spirat adhuc amor,

Rident et æstates serena

Et placidum sine nube coelum :

Et sole puro et fluctibus aureis
Ludens ad oras Oceanus salit,

Fontesque non absunt loquaces

Nec tremuli lacuum susurri :

At meesta terram sors premit Italam ;
Heroes illi in pulvere dormiunt,

Vatumque cessavere plectra,

Et liquidæ siluere voces :

Meeret virorum quod periit genus ;
Proles aviti nominis immemor

Fas ducit amplecti catenam, et

Otia præposuisse laudi,

Illic ubi olim Brutus, et impigri
Robur Camilli natum ; ubi Quintius

Sudabat exercens aratro

Jugera, fecit et alta virtus

Parvo potentem Fabricium. Opudor! Hic Reguli vox non sibi providi

Flexit senatores, petentis

Clarius exilium triumpho :

Hæc illa tellus, quæ tulit ultimas
Terrarum ad oras signa minantia,

Laurusque victoresque currus

Cum ducibus Numidumque regum

Duxit tropæis ad Capitolium.
Eheu! jacentes nunc aquilas tenet

Somnus perennis; fortiumque

Nullus honor superest favillæ.

Sed pristinorum lux mihi suaviter
Ridet dierum. Visere me juvat

Urbesque desertumque campum et

Templa suis spoliata Divis:

Lustrare flavâ quas Tiberis lavat
Oras arenâ, aut Nar violentior

Qua surgit, aut obliquus errat

Mincius. O sacer amnis, annon

Unquam trementes inter arundines
Moesti susurrat vox tibi Virgilî ?

Auditur: haud ripam relinquat

Musa tuam : calet et calebit

Semper Camoenæ spiritus igneæ,
Et fabulosis sedibus immorans,

Per saxa, per valles, suâque

Prata volat celebrata chordâ.