Though the worn frame in fetters withering lie,
There throned in peace divine is liberty!
TO THE SAME, RELEASED.[437]
How flows thy being now?—like some glad hymn
One strain of solemn rapture?—doth thine eye
Wander through tears of voiceless feeling dim
O’er the crown’d Alps, that, midst the upper sky,
Sleep in the sunlight of thine Italy?
Or is thy gaze of reverent love profound
Unto these dear, parental faces bound,