Eve of the land which still is Paradise!

Italian Beauty didst thou not inspire

Raphael,[217] who died in thy embrace, and vies

With all we know of Heaven, or can desire,

In what he hath bequeathed us?—in what guise,

Though flashing from the fervour of the Lyre,

Would words describe thy past and present glow,

While yet Canova[218] can create below?[219]