SONNET.

IMITATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF GAETANA PASSERINI

ON THE SIEGE OF GENOA BY THE FRENCH ARMY IN 16

" M Y native Genoa! if with tearless eye,
Prone in the dust thy beauteous form I see,
Think not thy daughter's heart is dead to thee;
'Twere treason, O my mother! here to sigh,
For here, majestic though in ashes, lie
Trophies of valour, skill, and constancy;
Here at each glance, each footstep, I descry
The proud memorials of thy love to me.

" Conquest to noble suffering lost the day,
And glorious was thy vengeance on the foe,
— He saw thee perish, yet not feel the blow. "
Thus Liberty, exulting on her way,
Kiss'd the dear relics, mouldering as they lay,
And cried, — " In ruins? — Yes! — In slavery? No . "