The storm hath passed; I hear the birds rejoice; the hen, Returned into the road again, Her cheerful notes repeats. The sky serene Is, in the west, upon the mountain seen:...
Approaching now the end of his abode On earth, Consalvo lay; complaining once, Of his hard fate, but now quite reconciled, When, in the midst of his fifth lustre, o'er His head oblivion, so longed-for, hung....
Such wast thou: now in earth below, Dust and a skeleton thou art. Above thy bones and clay, Here vainly placed by loving hands, Sole guardian of memory and woe, The image of departed beauty stands....
Italian bold, why wilt thou never cease The fathers from their tombs to summon forth? Why bring them, with this dead age to converse, That stifled is by enemies and by sloth?...
This wearisome and this distressing sleep That we call life, O how dost thou support, My Pepoli? With what hopes feedest thou Thy heart? Say in what thoughts, and in what deeds,...