On the Marriage of His Sister Paolina

Now that thy home thou leavest,
Its happy silence and serene repose,
And the ancient error which from Heaven flows,
Adorning in thy sight this lone abode,
By Fortune led upon the scene of life:
Become acquainted with the evil age
Which destiny devoteth to our years,
My sister, who in times
Of strife, dismay, and fears,
Proceedest to increase the ill-starred race
Of hapless Italy. Great models place
Before thine offspring. An unswerving doom
To virtuous enterprise
Unclouded days denies,
Nor in a bosom faint can lofty soul find room.
Unhappy or else craven
Shall be thy sons. Then nobly choose the first.
A mighty gulf hath evil custom set
'Twixt bravery and fortune. Ah! too slow,
And in the sunset of terrestrial things,
Doth man begin to suffer and to know.
Heaven see'th why. The thought unto thee brings
Its first solicitude,
That not in Fortune's net
Thy sons shall fall, nor be to terror low,
Or hope the wretched tools: thence to be hailed
Happy and blessed in the future far:
For such the habits are
Of our ignoble race,
That living worth we scorn, and dead in honour place.
Our fatherland, O women!
Expecteth much from ye; and not to harm
Our humankind, lurks in your eyes such charm
That it transcends the power of fire and steel.
To gain your praise, the warrior and the sage
Labour and think. Where'er the sun doth shine,
We see all things your mighty influence feel.
Of you the cause I ask
Why sank so low our age?
Did by your deed the fire of youth divine
Languish and die? By you, our nature made
So shattered and so base? Our slumbering souls,
Our will to shame betrayed,
Our native valour spent:
Must we for these on you our indignation vent?
Love leads to mighty actions,
Who knows him well; and of emotions vast
Is Beauty the inspirer. Void of love
Is he who feeleth no impassioned fire
When storms terrific raise their wrathful blast,
When sable clouds are darkly seen above,
And mountains tremble at their frenzy dire.
O wives and virgins fair!
From you scorn be his share
Who shuns the path of danger; who ignores
His country's claim, unworthy; who adores
A lowly idol in his recreant mind;
If in your hearts you find
The love of men doth glow
And not of those who ever trivial fancy show.
Scorn to be named the mothers
Of an unwarlike race. The trials deep
Of virtue let your offspring learn to bear,
And in the bondage of contempt to keep
Whate'er is honoured by this shameful age.
Bid them rise to great actions. Make them know
What this our land doth to its fathers owe.
Even as the heroes' name
Was held in honoured fame
By Sparta's sons as they increased in years,
Until their spouses girded on their sword,
And then their death in anguish deep deplored,
And rent their hair with tears
When from the gory field
The warrior was brought home upon his faithful shield.
With heavenly skill, Virginia,
Did all-prevailing beauty mould thy form,
And thy disdain made Rome's ignoble lord
In tempests of fierce passion rage and storm.
Yes, thou wast fair, and in those happy years
When pleasing dreams joy to the soul afford,
What time thy father's unrelenting sword
Thy snowy bosom pierced,
And thou to Hades dark
Didst gladly sink. "May age with wrinkles mark
My features, O my father! May the tomb
Await me with its everlasting gloom,
Ere to the tyrant's bed
A victim I be led.
Slay me, if Rome be rescued by the blood I shed."
O maiden lofty-hearted!
Though in thy days the sun more brightly shone
Than now it shines, yet honoured and consoled
Thy tomb becomes, bewailed by many a moan,
Thy native country's sighs. Ah, now, behold!
The race of Romulus with new-born ire
Is fired around thy tomb. See, tyrants sink
Unto the very dust,
And freedom doth inspire
The once oblivious hearts; and o'er the earth
Subdued, the Latin valour doth proceed
From the dark pole even to the torrid clime:
And thus eternal Rome,
Of languor deep the home,
Doth Fate, by woman's hand, revive a second time.