To shim the midnight perils of the main—
Now the glad hymn, the strain of rapture pour,
While on thy soul the beams of glory rise!
For if the pilot hail the welcome shore
With shouts of triumph swelling to the skies,
Oh! how shouldst thou the exulting pæan raise,
Now heaven’s bright harbour opens on thy gaze!
TORQUATO TASSO.
“Negli anni acerbi tuoi, purpurea rosa.”
Thou in thy morn wert like a glowing rose