I leave with unreverted eye the towers
Of Pisa pining o'er her desert stream.
Pleasure (they say) yet lingers in thy bowers,
Florence, thou patriot's sigh, thou poet's dream!

O could I find thee as thou once wert known,
Thoughtful and lofty, liberal and free!
But the pure Spirit from thy wreck has flown,
And only Pleasure's phantom dwells with thee.