Yes! I once bore that title, and my heart
Thought nobler of itself, that one so good,
So honor'd, so rever'd, should give it me.
O ! when that glad season comes,
Which brought redemption to a ruin'd world,
And, like thee, hides beneath the snow of age,
A gay, benevolent, and feeling heart,
I hop'd again to hear thy tongue repeat,
With youthful warmth and zealous energy,
Those passages, where Poetry assumes
An air divine, and wakes th' attentive soul
To holy rapture! Then you promis'd me
The luxury to weep o'er Dante's muse,
And fair Italia's loftier poets hail.