Immortal fragrance, and unwithering bloom.
“Che speri, instabil Dea, di sassi e spine.”
Fortune! why thus, where’er my footsteps tread,
Obstruct each path with rocks and thorns like these?
Think’st thou that I thy threatening mien shall dread,
Or toil and pant thy waving locks to seize?
Reserve the frown severe, the menace rude,
For vassal-spirits that confess thy sway!
My constant soul should triumph unsubdued,