Re-risen, and mightier, from the Assyrian dead,

Kindling, as dawn a frost-bound precipice,

The steely snows of Russia, for the tread

Of feet that felt before them crawl and hiss

The snaky lines of blood violently shed.

Like living creeping things

That writhe but have no stings

To scare adulterers from the imperial bed

Bowed with its load of lust,

Or chill the ravenous gusts

That made her body a fire from heel to head;

Or change her high bright spirit and clear,

For all its mortal stains, from taint of fraud or fear.

43.

As light that blesses, hallowing with a look;

He saw the godhead in Vittoria's face

Shine soft on Buonarroti's, till he took,

Albeit himself God, a more godlike grace,

A strength more heavenly to confront and brook

All ill things coiled about his worldly race,

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