The Prophecy Of Dante Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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Canto The FirstA
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Once more in Man's frail world which I had leftB
So long that 'twas forgotten and I feelC
The weight of clay again too soon bereftB
Of the Immortal Vision which could healC
My earthly sorrows and to God's own skiesD
Lift me from that deep Gulf without repealC
Where late my ears rung with the damned criesD
Of Souls in hopeless bale and from that placeE
Of lesser torment whence men may ariseD
Pure from the fire to join the Angelic raceE
Midst whom my own bright Beatric e blessedF
My spirit with her light and to the baseE
Of the Eternal Triad first last bestF
Mysterious three sole infinite great GodG
Soul universal led the mortal guestF
Unblasted by the Glory though he trodG
From star to star to reach the almighty throne bwH
Oh Beatrice whose sweet limbs the sodG
So long hath pressed and the cold marble stoneI
Thou sole pure Seraph of my earliest loveJ
Love so ineffable and so aloneI
That nought on earth could more my bosom moveK
And meeting thee in Heaven was but to meetL
That without which my Soul like the arkless doveJ
Had wandered still in search of nor her feetL
Relieved her wing till found without thy lightM
My Paradise had still been incompleteL
Since my tenth sun gave summer to my sightM
Thou wert my Life the Essence of my thoughtN
Loved ere I knew the name of Love and brightM
Still in these dim old eyes now overwroughtN
With the World's war and years and banishmentO
And tears for thee by other woes untaughtO
For mine is not a nature to be bentO
By tyrannous faction and the brawling crowdO
And though the long long conflict hath been spentO
In vain and never more save when the cloudO
Which overhangs the Apennine my mind's eyeP
Pierces to fancy Florence once so proudO
Of me can I return though but to dieP
Unto my native soil they have not yetO
Quenched the old exile's spirit stern and highP
But the Sun though not overcast must setO
And the night cometh I am old in daysQ
And deeds and contemplation and have metO
Destruction face to face in all his waysQ
The World hath left me what it found me pureR
And if I have not gathered yet its praiseQ
I sought it not by any baser lureR
Man wrongs and Time avenges and my nameS
May form a monument not all obscureR
Though such was not my Ambition's end or aimS
To add to the vain glorious list of thoseT
Who dabble in the pettiness of fameS
And make men's fickle breath the wind that blowsT
Their sail and deem it glory to be classedO
With conquerors and Virtue's other foesT
In bloody chronicles of ages pastO
I would have had my Florence great and freeU
Oh Florence Florence unto me thou wastO
Like that Jerusalem which the Almighty HeU
Wept over but thou wouldst not as the birdO
Gathers its young I would have gathered theeU
Beneath a parent pinion hadst thou heardO
My voice but as the adder deaf and fierceV
Against the breast that cherished thee was stirredO
Thy venom and my state thou didst amerceV
And doom this body forfeit to the fireW
Alas how bitter is his country's curseV
To him who for that country would expireX
But did not merit to expire by herW
And loves her loves her even in her ireX
The day may come when she will cease to errY
The day may come she would be proud to haveZ
The dust she dooms to scatter and transfer bxV
Of him whom she denied a home the graveA2
But this shall not be granted let my dustO
Lie where it falls nor shall the soil which gaveA2
Me breath but in her sudden fury thrustO
Me forth to breathe elsewhere so reassumeB2
My indignant bones because her angry gustO
Forsooth is over and repealed her doomB2
No she denied me what was mine my roofC2
And shall not have what is not hers my tombB2
Too long her arm d wrath hath kept aloofC2
The breast which would have bled for her the heartO
That beat the mind that was temptation proofC2
The man who fought toiled travelled and each partO
Of a true citizen fulfilled and sawV
For his reward the Guelf's ascendant artO
Pass his destruction even into a lawV
These things are not made for forgetfulnessV
Florence shall be forgotten first too rawD2
The wound too deep the wrong and the distressV
Of such endurance too prolonged to makeE2
My pardon greater her injustice lessV
Though late repented yet yet for her sakeE2
I feel some fonder yearnings and for thineF2
My own Beatric I would hardly takeE2
Vengeance upon the land which once was mineF2
And still is hallowed by thy dust's returnG2
Which would protect the murderess like a shrineF2
And save ten thousand foes by thy sole urnG2
Though like old Marius from Minturn 's marshH2
And Carthage ruins my lone breast may burnG2
At times with evil feelings hot and harshH2
And sometimes the last pangs of a vile foeI2
Writhe in a dream before me and o'erarchH2
My brow with hopes of triumph let them goI2
Such are the last infirmities of thoseV
Who long have suffered more than mortal woeI2
And yet being mortal still have no reposeV
But on the pillow of Revenge RevengeJ2
Who sleeps to dream of blood and waking glowsV
With the oft baffled slakeless thirst of changeK2
When we shall mount again and they that trodO
Be trampled on while Death and At rangeK2
O'er humbled heads and severed necks Great GodO
Take these thoughts from me to thy hands I yieldO
My many wrongs and thine Almighty rodO
Will fall on those who smote me be my ShieldO
As thou hast been in peril and in painL2
In turbulent cities and the tented fieldO
In toil and many troubles borne in vainL2
For Florence I appeal from her to TheeU
Thee whom I late saw in thy loftiest reignL2
Even in that glorious Vision which to seeU
And live was never granted until nowM2
And yet thou hast permitted this to meU
Alas with what a weight upon my browM2
The sense of earth and earthly things come backN2
Corrosive passions feelings dull and lowI2
The heart's quick throb upon the mental rackN2
Long day and dreary night the retrospectO
Of half a century bloody and blackN2
And the frail few years I may yet expectO
Hoary and hopeless but less hard to bearY
For I have been too long and deeply wreckedO
On the lone rock of desolate DespairY
To lift my eyes more to the passing sailO2
Which shuns that reef so horrible and bareY
Nor raise my voice for who would heed my wailO2
I am not of this people nor this ageP2
And yet my harpings will unfold a taleO2
Which shall preserve these times when not a pageP2
Of their perturb d annals could attractO
An eye to gaze upon their civil rage byP
Did not my verse embalm full many an actO
Worthless as they who wrought it 'tis the doomB2
Of spirits of my order to be rackedO
In life to wear their hearts out and consumeB2
Their days in endless strife and die aloneI
Then future thousands crowd around their tombB2
And pilgrims come from climes where they have knownI
The name of him who now is but a nameS
And wasting homage o'er the sullen stoneI
Spread his by him unheard unheeded fameS
And mine at least hath cost me dear to dieP
Is nothing but to wither thus to tameS
My mind down from its own infinityU
To live in narrow ways with little menQ2
A common sight to every common eyeP
A wanderer while even wolves can find a denQ2
Ripped from all kindred from all home all thingsV
That make communion sweet and soften painL2
To feel me in the solitude of kingsV
Without the power that makes them bear a crownR2
To envy every dove his nest and wingsV
Which waft him where the Apennine looks downR2
On Arno till he perches it may beU
Within my all inexorable townR2
Where yet my boys are and that fatal SheU
Their mother the cold partner who hath broughtO
Destruction for a dowry this to seeU
And feel and know without repair hath taughtO
A bitter lesson but it leaves me freeU
I have not vilely found nor basely soughtO
They made an Exile not a Slave of meU
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Canto The SecondO
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The Spirit of the fervent days of OldO
When words were things that came to pass and ThoughtO
Flashed o'er the future bidding men beholdO
Their children's children's doom already broughtO
Forth from the abyss of Time which is to beU
The Chaos of events where lie half wroughtO
Shapes that must undergo mortalityU
What the great Seers of Israel wore withinS2
That Spirit was on them and is on meU
And if Cassandra like amidst the dinS2
Of conflict none will hear or hearing heedO
This voice from out the Wilderness the sinS2
Be theirs and my own feelings be my meedO
The only guerdon I have ever knownI
Hast thou not bled and hast thou still to bleedO
Italia Ah to me such things foreshownI
With dim sepulchral light bid me forgetO
In thine irreparable wrongs my ownI
We can have but one Country and even yetO
Thou'rt mine my bones shall be within thy breastO
My Soul within thy language which once setO
With our old Roman sway in the wide WestO
But I will make another tongue ariseV
As lofty and more sweet in which expressedO
The hero's ardour or the lover's sighsV
Shall find alike such sounds for every themeT2
That every word as brilliant as thy skiesV
Shall realise a Poet's proudest dreamT2
And make thee Europe's Nightingale of SongU2
So that all present speech to thine shall seemT2
The note of meaner birds and every tongueV2
Confess its barbarism when compared with thine bzV
This shalt thou owe to him thou didst so wrongU2
Thy Tuscan bard the banished GhibellineI
Woe woe the veil of coming centuriesV
Is rent a thousand years which yet supineI
Lie like the ocean waves ere winds ariseV
Heaving in dark and sullen undulationI
Float from Eternity into these eyesV
The storms yet sleep the clouds still keep their stationI
The unborn Earthquake yet is in the wombB2
The bloody Chaos yet expects CreationI
But all things are disposing for thy doomB2
The Elements await but for the WordO
Let there be darkness and thou grow'st a tombB2
Yes thou so beautiful shalt feel the swordO
Thou Italy so fair that ParadiseV
Revived in thee blooms forth to man restoredO
Ah must the sons of Adam lose it twiceV
Thou Italy whose ever golden fieldsV
Ploughed by the sunbeams solely would sufficeV
For the world's granary thou whose sky Heaven gilds caW2
With brighter stars and robes with deeper blueX2
Thou in whose pleasant places Summer buildsV
Her palace in whose cradle Empire grewX2
And formed the Eternal City's ornamentsV
From spoils of Kings whom freemen overthrewX2
Birthplace of heroes sanctuary of SaintsV
Where earthly first then heavenly glory made cbU
Her home thou all which fondest Fancy paintsV
And finds her prior vision but portrayedO
In feeble colours when the eye from the AlpY2
Of horrid snow and rock and shaggy shadeO
Of desert loving pine whose emerald scalpY2
Nods to the storm dilates and dotes o'er theeU
And wistfully implores as 'twere for helpY2
To see thy sunny fields my ItalyU
Nearer and nearer yet and dearer stillZ2
The more approached and dearest were they freeU
Thou Thou must wither to each tyrant's willZ2
The Goth hath been the German Frank and HunI
Are yet to come and on the imperial hillZ2
Ruin already proud of the deeds doneI
By the old barbarians there awaits the newX2
Throned on the Palatine while lost and wonI
Rome at her feet lies bleeding and the hueX2
Of human sacrifice and Roman slaughterW
Troubles the clotted air of late so blueX2
And deepens into red the saffron waterW
Of Tiber thick with dead the helpless priestO
And still more helpless nor less holy daughterW
Vowed to their God have shrieking fled and ceasedO
Their ministry the nations take their preyA3
Iberian Almain Lombard and the beastO
And bird wolf vulture more humane than theyA3
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Are these but gorge the flesh and lap the goreB3
Of the departed and then go their wayA3
But those the human savages exploreB3
All paths of torture and insatiate yetO
With Ugolino hunger prowl for moreB3
Nine moons shall rise o'er scenes like this and setO
The chiefless army of the dead which lateO
Beneath the traitor Prince's banner metO
Hath left its leader's ashes at the gateO
Had but the royal Rebel lived perchanceV
Thou hadst been spared but his involved thy fateO
Oh Rome the Spoiler or the spoil of FranceV
From Brennus to the Bourbon never neverW
Shall foreign standard to thy walls advanceV
But Tiber shall become a mournful riverW
Oh when the strangers pass the Alps and PoY2
Crush them ye Rocks Floods whelm them and for everW
Why sleep the idle Avalanches soY2
To topple on the lonely pilgrim's headO
Why doth Eridanus but overflowY2
The peasant's harvest from his turbid bedO
Were not each barbarous horde a nobler preyA3
Over Cambyses' host the desert spreadO
Her sandy ocean and the Sea waves' swayA3
Rolled over Pharaoh and his thousands why ccU
Mountains and waters do ye not as theyA3
And you ye Men Romans who dare not dieO
Sons of the conquerors who overthrewX2
Those who overthrew proud Xerxes where yet lieO
The dead whose tomb Oblivion never knewX2
Are the Alps weaker than ThermopylO
Their passes more alluring to the viewX2
Of an invader is it they or yeU
That to each host the mountain gate unbarX2
And leave the march in peace the passage freeX2
Why Nature's self detains the Victor's carX2
And makes your land impregnable if earthC3
Could be so but alone she will not warX2
Yet aids the warrior worthy of his birthC3
In a soil where the mothers bring forth menI
Not so with those whose souls are little worthC3
For them no fortress can avail the denI
Of the poor reptile which preserves its stingD3
Is more secure than walls of adamant whenI
The hearts of those within are quiveringD3
Are ye not brave Yes yet the Ausonian soilO
Hath hearts and hands and arms and hosts to bringD3
Against Oppression but how vain the toilO
While still Division sows the seeds of woeY2
And weakness till the Stranger reaps the spoilO
Oh my own beauteous land so long laid lowY2
So long the grave of thy own children's hopesV
When there is but required a single blowY2
To break the chain yet yet the Avenger stopsV
And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and theeX2
And join their strength to that which with thee copesV
What is there wanting then to set thee freeX2
And show thy beauty in its fullest lightO
To make the Alps impassable and weX2
Her Sons may do this with one deed UniteO
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Canto The ThirdO
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From out the mass of never dying ill cdX2
The Plague the Prince the Stranger and the SwordO
Vials of wrath but emptied to refillO
And flow again I cannot all recordO
That crowds on my prophetic eye the EarthC3
And Ocean written o'er would not affordO
Space for the annal yet it shall go forthE3
Yes all though not by human pen is gravenI
There where the farthest suns and stars have birthC3
Spread like a banner at the gate of HeavenI
The bloody scroll of our millennial wrongsV
Waves and the echo of our groans is drivenI
Athwart the sound of archangelic songsV
And Italy the martyred nation's goreX2
Will not in vain arise to where belongs ceV
Omnipotence and Mercy evermoreX2
Like to a harpstring stricken by the windO
The sound of her lament shall rising o'erX2
The Seraph voices touch the Almighty MindO
Meantime I humblest of thy sons and ofJ
Earth's dust by immortality refinedO
To Sense and Suffering though the vain may scoffF3
And tyrants threat and meeker victims bowU
Before the storm because its breath is roughG3
To thee my Country whom before as nowU
I loved and love devote the mournful lyreX2
And melancholy gift high Powers allowU
To read the future and if now my fireX2
Is not as once it shone o'er thee forgiveH3
I but foretell thy fortunes then expireX2
Think not that I would look on them and liveI3
A Spirit forces me to see and speakJ3
And for my guerdon grants not to surviveI3
My Heart shall be poured over thee and breakE2
Yet for a moment ere I must resumeB2
Thy sable web of Sorrow let me takeE2
Over the gleams that flash athwart thy gloomB2
A softer glimpse some stars shine through thy nightO
And many meteors and above thy tombB2
Leans sculptured Beauty which Death cannot blightO
And from thine ashes boundless Spirits riseV
To give thee honour and the earth delightO
Thy soil shall still be pregnant with the wiseV
The gay the learned the generous and the braveA2
Native to thee as Summer to thy skiesV
Conquerors on foreign shores and the far waveA2
Discoverers of new worlds which take their nameS
For thee alone they have no arm to saveA2
And all thy recompense is in their fameS
A noble one to them but not to theeX2
Shall they be glorious and thou still the sameS
Oh more than these illustrious far shall beX2
The Being and even yet he may be bornI
The mortal Saviour who shall set thee freeX2
And see thy diadem so changed and wornI
By fresh barbarians on thy brow replacedO
And the sweet Sun replenishing thy mornI
Thy moral morn too long with clouds defacedO
And noxious vapours from Avernus risenI
Such as all they must breathe who are debasedO
By Servitude and have the mind in prisonI
Yet through this centuried eclipse of woe cfA2
Some voices shall be heard and Earth shall listenI
Poets shall follow in the path I showY2
And make it broader the same brilliant skyO
Which cheers the birds to song shall bid them glow cgO
And raise their notes as natural and highO
Tuneful shall be their numbers they shall singO
Many of Love and some of LibertyX2
But few shall soar upon that Eagle's wingO
And look in the Sun's face with Eagle's gazeV
All free and fearless as the feathered KingO
But fly more near the earth how many a phraseV
Sublime shall lavished be on some small princeV
In all the prodigality of PraiseV
And language eloquently false evince chY2
The harlotry of Genius which like Beauty ciV
Too oft forgets its own self reverenceV
And looks on prostitution as a dutyX2
He who once enters in a Tyrant's hall cjP2
As guest is slave his thoughts become a bootyX2
And the first day which sees the chain enthralO
A captive sees his half of Manhood goneI
The Soul's emasculation saddens allO
His spirit thus the Bard too near the throneI
Quails from his inspiration bound to pleaseV
How servile is the task to please aloneI
To smooth the verse to suit his Sovereign's easeV
And royal leisure nor too much prolongO
Aught save his eulogy and find and seizeV
Or force or forge fit argument of SongO
Thus trammelled thus condemned to Flattery's treblesV
He toils through all still trembling to be wrongO
For fear some noble thoughts like heavenly rebelsV
Should rise up in high treason to his brainI
He sings as the Athenian spoke with pebblesV
In's mouth lest Truth should stammer through his strainI
But out of the long file of sonneteersV
There shall be some who will not sing in vainI
And he their Prince shall rank among my peersV
And Love shall be his torment but his griefA2
Shall make an immortality of tearsV
And Italy shall hail him as the ChiefA2
Of Poet lovers and his higher songO
Of Freedom wreathe him with as green a leafA2
But in a farther age shall rise alongO
The banks of Po two greater still than heX2
The World which smiled on him shall do them wrongO
Till they are ashes and repose with meX2
The first will make an epoch with his lyreX2
And fill the earth with feats of ChivalryX2
His Fancy like a rainbow and his FireX2
Like that of Heaven immortal and his ThoughtO
Borne onward with a wing that cannot tireX2
Pleasure shall like a butterfly new caughtO
Flutter her lovely pinions o'er his themeT2
And Art itself seem into Nature wroughtO
By the transparency of his bright dreamT2
The second of a tenderer sadder moodO
Shall pour his soul out o'er JerusalemK3
He too shall sing of Arms and Christian bloodO
Shed where Christ bled for man and his high harpY2
Shall by the willow over Jordan's floodO
Revive a song of Sion and the sharpY2
Conflict and final triumph of the braveA2
And pious and the strife of Hell to warpY2
Their hearts from their great purpose until waveA2
The red cross banners where the first red CrossV
Was crimsoned from His veins who died to save ckO
Shall be his sacred argument the lossV
Of years of favour freedom even of fameS
Contested for a time while the smooth glossV
Of Courts would slide o'er his forgotten nameS
And call Captivity a kindness meantO
To shield him from insanity or shameS
Such shall be his meek guerdon who was sentO
To be Christ's Laureate they reward him wellO
Florence dooms me but death or banishmentO
Ferrara him a pittance and a cellO
Harder to bear and less deserved for IO
Had stung the factions which I strove to quellO
But this meek man who with a lover's eyeO
Will look on Earth and Heaven and who will deignI
To embalm with his celestial flatteryX2
As poor a thing as e'er was spawned to reignI
What will he do to merit such a doomB2
Perhaps he'll love and is not Love in vainI
Torture enough without a living tombB2
Yet it will be so he and his compeerX2
The Bard of Chivalry will both consumeB2
In penury and pain too many a yearX2
And dying in despondency bequeathL3
To the kind World which scarce will yield a tearX2
A heritage enriching all who breatheM3
With the wealth of a genuine Poet's soulO
And to their country a redoubled wreathL3
Unmatched by time not Hellas can unrollO
Through her Olympiads two such names though oneI
Of hers be mighty and is this the wholeO
Of such men's destiny beneath the SunI
Must all the finer thoughts the thrilling senseV
The electric blood with which their arteries run clO
Their body's self turned soul with the intenseV
Feeling of that which is and fancy ofA2
That which should be to such a recompenseV
Conduct shall their bright plumage on the roughA2
Storm be still scattered Yes and it must beX2
For formed of far too penetrable stuffA2
These birds of Paradise but long to fleeX2
Back to their native mansion soon they findO
Earth's mist with their pure pinions not agreeX2
And die or are degraded for the mindO
Succumbs to long infection and despairX2
And vulture Passions flying close behindO
Await the moment to assail and tearX2
And when at length the wing d wanderers stoopY2
Then is the Prey birds' triumph then they shareX2
The spoil o'erpowered at length by one fell swoopY2
Yet some have been untouched who learned to bearX2
Some whom no Power could ever force to droopY2
Who could resist themselves even hardest careX2
And task most hopeless but some such have beenI
And if my name amongst the number wereX2
That Destiny austere and yet sereneI
Were prouder than more dazzling fame unblessedO
The Alp's snow summit nearer heaven is seenI
Than the Volcano's fierce eruptive crestO
Whose splendour from the black abyss is flungO
While the scorched mountain from whose burning breastO
A temporary torturing flame is wrungO
Shines for a night of terror then repelsV
Its fire back to the Hell from whence it sprungO
The Hell which in its entrails ever dwellsV
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Canto The FourthE3
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Many are Poets who have never pennedO
Their inspiration and perchance the bestO
They felt and loved and died but would not lendO
Their thoughts to meaner beings they compressedO
The God within them and rejoined the starsV
Unlaurelled upon earth but far more blessedO
Than those who are degraded by the jarsV
Of Passion and their frailties linked to fameS
Conquerors of high renown but full of scarsV
Many are Poets but without the nameS
For what is Poesy but to createO
From overfeeling Good or Ill and aimS
At an external life beyond our fateO
And be the new Prometheus of new menI
Bestowing fire from Heaven and then too lateO
Finding the pleasure given repaid with painI
And vultures to the heart of the bestowerX2
Who having lavished his high gift in vainI
Lies to his lone rock by the sea shoreX2
So be it we can bear But thus all theyA3
Whose Intellect is an o'ermastering PowerX2
Which still recoils from its encumbering clayA3
Or lightens it to spirit whatsoe'erX2
The form which their creations may essayA3
Are bards the kindled Marble's bust may wearX2
More poesy upon its speaking browX2
Than aught less than the Homeric page may bearX2
One noble stroke with a whole life may glowO
Or deify the canvass till it shineI
With beauty so surpassing all belowO
That they who kneel to Idols so divineI
Break no commandment for high Heaven is thereX2
Transfused transfigurated and the lineI
Of Poesy which peoples but the airX2
With Thought and Beings of our thought reflectedO
Can do no more then let the artist shareX2
The palm he shares the peril and dejectedO
Faints o'er the labour unapproved AlasV
Despair and Genius are too oft connectedO
Within the ages which before me passV
Art shall resume and equal even the swayA3
Which with Apelles and old PhidiasV
She held in Hellas' unforgotten dayA3
Ye shall be taught by Ruin to reviveA2
The Grecian forms at least from their decayA3
And Roman souls at last again shall liveA2
In Roman works wrought by Italian handsV
And temples loftier than the old temples giveA2
New wonders to the World and while still standsV
The austere Pantheon into heaven shall soarX2
A Dome its image while the base expandsV
Into a fane surpassing all beforeX2
Such as all flesh shall flock to kneel in ne'erX2
Such sight hath been unfolded by a doorX2
As this to which all nations shall repairX2
And lay their sins at this huge gate of HeavenI
And the bold Architect unto whose careX2
The daring charge to raise it shall be givenI
Whom all Arts shall acknowledge as their LordO
Whether into the marble chaos drivenI
His chisel bid the Hebrew at whose wordO
Israel left Egypt stop the waves in stone cmS
Or hues of Hell be by his pencil pouredO
Over the damned before the Judgement throneI
Such as I saw them such as all shall seeV
Or fanes be built of grandeur yet unknownI
The Stream of his great thoughts shall spring from meV
The Ghibelline who traversed the three realmsV
Which form the Empire of EternityV
Amidst the clash of swords and clang of helmsV
The age which I anticipate no lessV
Shall be the Age of Beauty and while whelmsV
Calamity the nations with distressV
The Genius of my Country shall ariseV
A Cedar towering o'er the WildernessV
Lovely in all its branches to all eyesV
Fragrant as fair and recognised afarX2
Wafting its native incense through the skiesV
Sovereigns shall pause amidst their sport of warX2
Weaned for an hour from blood to turn and gazeV
On canvass or on stone and they who marX2
All beauty upon earth compelled to praiseV
Shall feel the power of that which they destroyX2
And Art's mistaken gratitude shall raiseV
To tyrants who but take her for a toyX2
Emblems and monuments and prostituteO
Her charms to Pontiffs proud who but employX2
The man of Genius as the meanest bruteO
To bear a burthen and to serve a needO
To sell his labours and his soul to bootO
Who toils for nations may be poor indeedO
But free who sweats for Monarchs is no moreX2
Than the gilt Chamberlain who clothed and feedO
Stands sleek and slavish bowing at his doorX2
Oh Power that rulest and inspirest howX2
Is it that they on earth whose earthly powerX2
Is likest thine in heaven in outward showO
Least like to thee in attributes divineI
Tread on the universal necks that bowX2
And then assure us that their rights are thineI
And how is it that they the Sons of FameS
Whose inspiration seems to them to shineI
From high they whom the nations oftest nameS
Must pass their days in penury or painI
Or step to grandeur through the paths of shameS
And wear a deeper brand and gaudier chainI
Or if their Destiny be born aloofA2
From lowliness or tempted thence in vainI
In their own souls sustain a harder proofA2
The inner war of Passions deep and fierceV
Florence when thy harsh sentence razed my roofA2
I loved thee but the vengeance of my verseV
The hate of injuries which every yearX2
Makes greater and accumulates my curseV
Shall live outliving all thou holdest dearX2
Thy pride thy wealth thy freedom and even thatO
The most infernal of all evils hereX2
The sway of petty tyrants in a stateO
For such sway is not limited to KingsV
And Demagogues yield to them but in dateO
As swept off sooner in all deadly thingsV
Which make men hate themselves and one anotherX2
In discord cowardice cruelty all that springsV
From Death the Sin born's incest with his motherX2
In rank oppression in its rudest shapeY2
The faction Chief is but the Sultan's brotherX2
And the worst Despot's far less human apeY2
Florence when this lone spirit which so longO
Yearned as the captive toiling at escapeY2
To fly back to thee in despite of wrongO
An exile saddest of all prisonersV
Who has the whole world for a dungeon strongO
Seas mountains and the horizon's verge for bars cnI
Which shut him from the sole small spot of earthC3
Where whatsoe'er his fate he still were hersV
His Country's and might die where he had birthC3
Florence when this lone Spirit shall returnI
To kindred Spirits thou wilt feel my worthC3
And seek to honour with an empty urnI
The ashes thou shalt ne'er obtain AlasV
What have I done to thee my People SternI
Are all thy dealings but in this they passV
The limits of Man's common malice forX2
All that a citizen could be I wasV
Raised by thy will all thine in peace or warX2
And for this thou hast warred with me 'Tis doneI
I may not overleap the eternal barX2
Built up between us and will die aloneI
Beholding with the dark eye of a SeerX2
The evil days to gifted souls foreshownI
Foretelling them to those who will not hearX2
As in the old time till the hour be comeS
When Truth shall strike their eyes through many a tearX2
And make them own the Prophet in his tombS
-
RavennaI

George Gordon Byron



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