TO MY CHILDREN

Ye plains, where three foH harvests press the ground, Ye climes, where génial gales incessant swell ,

Where art and nature shed profusely round Their rival wonders — Italy, farewell.

Still may thy year in fuUest splendor shine !

Its icy darts in vain may winter throw !

To thee, a parent, sister, I consigU;,

And wing'd with health , I Vfoo thy gales to hlow*

Yet, pleas'd, Helvetia's rugged hrows I see, And thro' their craggy steeps delighted roam;

Pleas'd with a people, honest, brave and free, Whilst every step conducts me nearer hottie.

I wander where Tesino madly flows ,

From cliff to cliff in foaming eddies tost ;

On the rude mountain's barren breast he rose, In Po's broad wave now hurries to be lost-

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PASSAGE