They ne’er will gather strength, nor find a home again.
. . . . . . . . . .
The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.’
Every line in Shelley’s verse which speaks of Italy is pregnant with the spirit of the land. Each line is a picture; true and perfect, whether of day or night, of water or shore, of marsh or garden, of silence or melody. Take this poem, ‘Julian and Maddalo,’—
‘How beautiful is sunset, when the glow
Of heaven descends upon a land like thee,
Thou paradise of exiles, Italy!
. . . . . . . . . .
As those who pause on some delightful way,