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Nè altro avvien di cose altere e nuove In cui si preme la natura; e’l cielo E ch’ a lor parto largo s’ apparecchia. Nè Dio, suo grazia, mi si mostra altrove, Più che ’n alcun leggiadro e mortal velo; È quel sol amo, perchè ’n quel si specchia. My intention in going to Italy was not to seek for advantage or honour, but to study.
It was but eleven years before the first great movement of the Risorgimento swept over Italy in 1848 that he passed away; his poems were indeed songs before sunrise, a sunrise of which he failed to detect the far-off glimmering, so that he could only lament without hope the sad condition of his dismembered country, once the mistress and now the play-thing of the world, and the abject slave of hated Austria: “O patria mia, vedo le mure e gli archi E le colonne e i simulacri e l’ erme Torri degli avi nostri, Ma la gloria non vedo; Non vedo il lauro e’l ferro ond’ eran carchi I nostri padri antichi.”
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