Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 - XIX. - At Florence

Under the shadow of a stately Pile, The dome of Florence, pensive and alone, Nor giving heed to aught that passed the while, I stood, and gazed upon a marble stone, The laureled Dante's favourite seat. A throne, In just esteem, it rivals; though no style Be there of decoration to beguile The mind, depressed by thought of greatness flown. As a true man, who long had served the lyre, I gazed with earnestness, and dared no more. But in his breast the mighty Poet bore A Patriot's heart, warm with undying fire. Bold with the thought, in reverence I sate down, And, for a moment, filled that empty Throne.