Deeming the chain it wears even men may fit,
Eutropius of its many masters,—blind
To worth as freedom, wisdom as to wit,
Fearless—because no feeling dwells in ice,
Its very courage stagnates to a vice.
XVI.
Where shall I turn me not to view its bonds,
For I will never feel them:—Italy!
Thy late reviving Roman soul desponds
Beneath the lie this State-thing breathed o'er thee—