XVII.

It was a home to die for! As it rose Through its vine foliage, sending forth a sound Of mirthful childhood, o’er the green repose And laughing sunshine of the pastures round; And he, whose life to that sweet spot was bound, Raised unto Heaven a glad yet thoughtful eye, And set his free step firmer on the ground, When o’er his soul its melodies went by, As, through some Alpine pass, a breeze of Italy.