Verse > Anthologies > Samuel Waddington, ed. > The Sonnets of Europe
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Samuel Waddington, comp.  The Sonnets of Europe.  1888.
 
To Genoa
By Pastorini
 
Translated by Leigh Hunt

PROUD city, that by the Ligurian sea
  Sittest as at a mirror, lofty and fair;
  And towering from thy curving banks in air,
Scornest the mountains that attend on thee;
Why, with such structures, to which Italy        5
  Has nothing else, though glorious, to compare,
  Hast thou not souls, with something like a share
Of look, heart, spirit, and ingenuity?
 
Better to bury at once (’twould cost thee less)
  Thy golden-sweating heaps, where cramp’d from light,        10
They and their pinch’d fasts ply their old distress.
  Thy rotting wealth, unspent, like a thick blight,
Clouds the close eyes of these;—dark hands oppress
  With superstition those;—and all is night.
 
 
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