LVII.

Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar,[434][18.H.] Like Scipio buried by the upbraiding shore:[435][19.H.] Thy factions, in their worse than civil war,[436] Proscribed the Bard whose name for evermore Their children's children would in vain adore With the remorse of ages; and the crown[437][20.H.] Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, His Life, his Fame, his Grave, though rifled--not thine own.[438]