Nor seems it now that Dinah’s shame can gird
    Simeon or Levi to avenge her fate. 
If then Jerusalem doth not repair
    To Nazareth or Athens, where did reign
    Wisdom of God or man in days of yore,
None shall arise her honours to restore: 
    For Herods are all strangers; when they swear
    To save the Saviour’s seed, their oath is vain.

XXIX.

TO VENICE.

Nuova arca di Noe.

New Ark of Noah! when the cruel scourge
    Of that barbarian tyrant like a wave
    Went over Italy, thou then didst save
    The seed of just men on the weltering surge. 
Here, still by discord and foul servitude
    Untainted, thou a hero brood dost raise,
    Powerful and prudent.  Due to thee their praise
    Of maiden pure, of teeming motherhood! 
Thou wonder of the world, Rome’s loyal heir,
    Thou pride and strong support of Italy,
    Dial of princes, school of all things wise! 
Thou like Arcturus steadfast in the skies,
    With tardy sense guidest thy kingdom fair,
    Bearing alone the load of liberty.

XXX.

TO GENOA.

Le Ninfe d’Arno.

The nymphs of Arno; Adria’s goddess-queen;
    Greece, where the Latin banner floated free;
    The lands that border on the Syrian sea;
    The Euxine, and fair Naples; these have been
Thine, by the right of conquest; these should be
    Still thine by empire:  Asia’s broad demesne,
    Afric, America—­realms never seen
    But by thy venture—­all belong to thee. 
But thou, thyself not knowing, leavest all
    For a poor price to strangers; since thy head
    Is weak, albeit thy limbs are stout and good. 
Genoa, mistress of the world, recall
    Thy soul magnanimous!  Nay, be not led
    Slave to base gold, thou and thy tameless brood!

XXXI.

TO POLAND.

Sopra i regni.

High o’er those realms that make blind chance the heir
    Of empire, Poland, dost thou lift thy head: 
    For while thou mournest for thy monarch dead,
    Thou wilt not let his son the sceptre bear,
Lest he prove weak perchance to do or dare. 
    Yet art thou even more by luck misled,
    Choosing a prince of fortune, courtly-bred,
    Uncertain whether he will spend or spare. 
Oh, quit this pride!  In hut or shepherd’s pen
    Seek Cato, Minos, Numa!  For of such
    God still makes kings in plenty:  and these men
Will squander little substance and gain much,
    Knowing that virtue and not blood shall be
    Their titles to true immortality.

XXXII.

TO THE SWISS.

Se voi piu innalza.