In the still hours, like some remember’d strain,
Troubling the heart with its wild melody!—
Thou hast seen much, tired pilgrim! hast thou seen
In that far land, the chosen land of yore,
A youth—my Guido—with the fiery mien
And the dark eye of this Italian shore?
The dark, clear, lightning eye! On heaven and earth
It smiled—as if man were not dust it smiled!
The very air seem’d kindling with his mirth,
And I—my heart grew young before my child!