Her features, calm in beauty, he surveys,
Then turns away, and fixes on her child
So dark a glance as thrills a mother’s mind
With some vague fear scarce own’d, and undefined.
There stands a lonely dwelling, by the wave
Of the blue deep which bathes Italia’s shore,
Far from all sounds, but rippling seas that lave
Gray rocks with foliage richly shadow’d o’er,
And sighing winds, that murmur through the wood,
Fringing the beach of that Hesperian flood.