From "MALTA"
O, BELLA fior del mondo! to-morrow
I'll leave thee to follow the path of the sun,
No more to return, yet departing in sorrow—
The stranger may go as the stranger hath done.
I've met the hot breath of the scorching siroc
As I guarded thy ramparts that frown on the sea,
I've lain 'neath the shade of the vine-covered rock
Weaving bright fancies of glory and thee....