Alone, amidst the darkness there,
Couldst gaze on Rome—yet not despair![110]
’Tis morn—and nature’s richest dyes
Are floating o’er Italian skies;
Tints of transparent lustre shine
Along the snow-clad Apennine;
The clouds have left Soracte’s height,
And yellow Tiber winds in light,
Where tombs and fallen fanes have strew’d
The wide Campagna’s solitude.