_Leonhard._ See here what spacious halls: how all around
Us breathes magnificence!
_Spinarosa._ A princely pile!
But ah! how nobler far its daring site!
It rears its tow'rs amid these rocks and glaciers,
As if proud man were in his might resolved
To add _his_ rock to those that spurn the vale.
_Leon._ All here is beautiful! but 'tis not home!
'Tis true I was a child scarce eight years old
When led by Pietro into Italy--
Yet are my home's green lineaments as fresh
As when first painted on my infant soul;
This castle bears them not.--My home lay hid
In the deep bosom of gigantic oaks,
That o'er its roof their guardian shadows flung.
Nor towers, nor gates, nor pinnacles, were there;
With lowly thatch and humble wicket graced,
Smiling, yet solitary, did it stand.
_Blackwood's Magazine_.
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