Giulia Romana! how thy trembling beauty,
That oft would shudder at one breath of praise,
Comes back to me! before the trump of duty
Had marshalled thee in life’s laborious ways.
We used to wonder at thy blush in hearing
Thy parents praised. We now know what it meant:
A consciousness of their gifts reappearing
Perchance, in thine—to consummation blent.
* * * * *
Oh, she was beautiful, beyond all magic
Of sculptor’s hand, or pencil to portray!
Something angelical, divinely tragic,
Tempered the smile that round her lips would play.
Dear first born daughter of a hero’s heart!
Pass to perfection, all but perfect here!
We weep not much, remembering where thou art,
Yet, child of Poesy! receive a tear.