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Near Anio's stream, I spied a gentle DovePerched on an olive branch, and heard her cooing'Mid new-born blossoms that soft airs were wooing,While all things present told of joy and love.But restless Fancy left that olive groveTo hail the exploratory Bird renewingHope for the few, who, at the world's undoing,On the great flood were spared to live and move.O bounteous Heaven! … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – X. – Near Anio’s Stream, I Spied A Gentle Dove, By: William Wordsworth

Long has the dew been dried on tree and lawn:O'er man and beast a not unwelcome boonIs shed, the languor of approaching noon;To shady rest withdrawing or withdrawnMute are all creatures, as this couchant fawn,Save insect-swarms that hum in air afloat,Save that the Cock is crowing, a shrill note,Startling and shrill as that which roused the dawn.Heard in that hour, or when, as … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – VIII. – Near Rome, In Sight Of St. Peter’s, By: William Wordsworth

They who have seen the noble Roman's scornBreak forth at thought of laying down his head,When the blank day is over, garrotedIn his ancestral palace, where, from mornTo night, the desecrated floors are wornBy feet of purse-proud strangers; they who have readIn one meek smile, beneath a peasant's shed,How patiently the weight of wrong is borne;They who have heard some learned … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – VII. – At Rome, By: William Wordsworth

Forbear to deem the Chronicler unwise,Ungentle, or untouched by seemly ruth,Who, gathering up all that Time's envious toothHas spared of sound and grave realities,Firmly rejects those dazzling flatteries,Dear as they are to unsuspecting Youth,That might have drawn down Clio from the skiesTo vindicate the majesty of truth.Such was her office while she walked with men,A Muse, … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – VI. – Plea For The Historian, By: William Wordsworth

Complacent Fictions were they, yet the sameInvolved a history of no doubtful sense,History that proves by inward evidenceFrom what a precious source of truth it came.Ne'er could the boldest Eulogist have daredSuch deeds to paint, such characters to frame,But for coeval sympathy preparedTo greet with instant faith their loftiest claim.None but a noble people could have … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – V. – Continued, By: William Wordsworth