Dante

O Dante, why is it that I adoring Still lift my songs and vows to thy stern face, And sunset to the morning grey gives place To find me still thy restless verse exploring?

Lucia prays not for my poor soul's resting; For me Matilda tends no sacred fount; For me in vain the sacred lovers mount, O'er star and star to the eternal soaring.

I hate the Holy Empire, and the crown And sword alike relentless would have riven From thy good Frederic on Olona's plains.

Empire and Church to ruin have gone down, And yet for them thy songs did scale high heaven. Great Jove is dead. Only the song remains.

LEVIA GRAVIA.