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[2169]

VIII. Europe. Letters

I go to prove my soul.
     I see my way, as birds their trackless way
In some time, God's good time, I shall arrive
     He guides me and the bird. In his good time!

One, who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment, to which Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
Is happy as a lover, and attired
With sudden brightness, like a man inspired;
And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.

Italia! Italia! O tu cui feo la sorte
     Dono infelice di bellezza, ond‘ hai
Funesta dote d'infiniti guai,
     Che in fronte scritti per gran doglia porter.
Deh, fossi tu men bella, Ò almen piu forte!

Filicaja

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