[Poems by Botta in] Memoirs of Anne Charlotte Lynch Botta written by her friends with selections from her correspondence and from her writings in prose and poetry |
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 | [Poems by Botta in] Memoirs of Anne Charlotte Lynch Botta written by her friends |  |
459
VIVA ITALIA!
Italia, in thy bleeding heart
I thought e'en hope was dead;
That from thy scarred and prostrate form
The spark of life had fled.
I thought e'en hope was dead;
That from thy scarred and prostrate form
The spark of life had fled.
I thought, as memory's sunset glow
Its radiance o'er thee cast,
That all thy glory and thy fame
Were buried in the past.
Its radiance o'er thee cast,
That all thy glory and thy fame
Were buried in the past.
Twice Mistress of the world, I thought
Thy star had set in gloom;
That all thy shrines and monuments
Were but thy spirit's tomb—
Thy star had set in gloom;
That all thy shrines and monuments
Were but thy spirit's tomb—
The mausoleum of the world,
Where Art her spoils might keep;
Where pilgrims from all shrines might come,
To wonder and to weep.
Where Art her spoils might keep;
Where pilgrims from all shrines might come,
To wonder and to weep.
But from thy deathlike slumber now,
In joy I see thee wake
And over thy long shrouded sky
Behold the morning break.
In joy I see thee wake
And over thy long shrouded sky
Behold the morning break.
Along the Alps and Apennines
Runs an electric thrill;
A golden splendor lights once more
Each storied vale and hill.
Runs an electric thrill;
A golden splendor lights once more
Each storied vale and hill.
And hopes, bright as thy sunny skies,
Are o'er thy future cast;
The future that upon thee beams,
As glorious as thy past.
Are o'er thy future cast;
The future that upon thee beams,
As glorious as thy past.
| [Poems by Botta in] Memoirs of Anne Charlotte Lynch Botta written by her friends | |