Great as thou art, yet paralleled by those, Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine, The Bards of Hell and Chivalry: first rose The Tuscan Father's Comedy Divine; Then, not unequal to the Florentine, The southern Scott, the minstrel who called forth A new creation with his magic line, And, like the Ariosto of the North,[420] Sang Ladye-love and War, Romance and Knightly Worth. XLI. The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust[11.H.] The iron crown of laurel's mimicked leaves; Nor was the ominous element unjust, For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves[12.H.] Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves, And the false semblance but disgraced his brow; Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves, Know, that the lightning sanctifies below[13.H.] Whate'er it strikes;--yon head is doubly sacred now. XLII. Italia! oh, Italia! thou who hast[421] The fatal gift of Beauty, which became A funeral dower of present woes and past-- On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame,[mn] And annals graved in characters of flame. Oh, God! that thou wert in thy nakedness Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress; XLIII. Then might'st thou more appal--or, less desired, Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored[mo] For thy destructive charms; then, still untired, Would not be seen the arméd torrents poured Down the deep Alps; nor would the hostile horde Of many-nationed spoilers from the Po Quaff blood and water; nor the stranger's sword Be thy sad weapon of defence--and so, Victor or vanquished, thou the slave of friend or foe. XLIV. Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him, The Roman friend of Rome's least-mortal mind,[422] The friend of Tully: as my bark did skim The bright blue waters with a fanning wind, Came Megara before me, and behind Ægina lay--Piræus on the right, And Corinth on the left; I lay reclined Along the prow, and saw all these unite In ruin--even as he had seen the desolate sight; XLV. For Time hath not rebuilt them, but upreared Barbaric dwellings on their shattered site, Which only make more mourned and more endeared The few last rays of their far-scattered light, And the crashed relics of their vanished might. The Roman saw these tombs in his own age, These sepulchres of cities, which excite[mp] Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. XLVI.