There is a description of a battle, in the Hour of my Youth, which. I cannot help quoting before I leave the poem. The battle took place between the Austrians and the French on the 14th of January, 1797, in the Chiusa, a narrow valley near Verona, and the fiercest part of the fight was for the possession of the hill of Rivoli. Clouds of smoke Floated along the heights; and, with her wild, Incessant echo, Chiusa still repeated The harmony of the muskets. Rival hosts Contended for the poverty of a hill That scarce could give their number sepulcher; But from that hill-crest waved the glorious locks Of Victory. And round its bloody spurs, Taken and lost with fierce vicissitude, Serried and splendid, swept and tempested Long-haired dragoons, together with the might Of the Homeric foot, delirious With fury; and the horses with their teeth Tore one another, or, tossing wild their manes, Fled with their helpless riders up the crags, By strait and imminent paths of rock, till down, Like angels thunder-smitten, to the depths Of that abyss the riders fell. With slain Was heaped the dreadful amphitheater; The rocks dropped blood; and if with gasping breath Some wounded swimmer beat away the waves Weakly between him and the other shore, The merciless riflemen from the cliffs above, With their inexorable aim, beneath The waters sunk him. The Monte Circellio is part of a poem in four cantos, dispersed, it is said, to avoid the researches of the police, in which the poet recounts in picturesque verse the glories and events of the Italian land and history through which he passes. A slender but potent cord of common feeling unites the episodes, and the lament for the present fate of Italy rises into hope for her future. More than half of the poem is given to a description of the geological growth of the earth, in which the imagination of the poet has unbridled range, and in which there is a success unknown to most other attempts to poetize the facts of science. The epochs of darkness and inundation, of the monstrous races of bats and lizards, of the mammoths and the gigantic vegetation, pass, and, after thousands of years, the earth is tempered and purified to the use of man by fire; and that Paradise of land and sea, forever Stirred by great hopes and by volcanic fires, Called Italy, takes shape: its burning mountains rise, its valleys sink, its plains extend, its streams run. But first of all, the hills of Rome lifted themselves from the waters, that day when the spirit of God dwelling upon their face