Purgatorio, cant. v.
—Edinburgh Review, No. lvii.]
There are bright scenes beneath Italian skies,
Where glowing suns there purest light diffuse,
Uncultured flowers in wild profusion rise,
And nature lavishes her warmest hues;
But trust thou not her smile, her balmy breath—
Away! her charms are but the pomp of Death!
He in the vine-clad bowers, unseen, is dwelling,
Where the cool shade its freshness round thee throws;