Landscapes, by colouring dress’d in richer dyes,
More mellow’d sunshine, more unclouded skies,
Or dreams of bliss to dying martyrs given,
Descending seraphs robed in beams of heaven.
Oh! sovereign Masters of the Pencil’s might,
Its depths of shadow and its blaze of light;
Ye, whose bold thought, disdaining every bound,
Explored the worlds above, below, around,
Children of Italy! who stand alone
And unapproach’d, midst regions all your own;