On his lips morn's fragrant incense lies,

Round his lips the cooling Zephyr sighs.
His mouth is red--its power I dread,
With one glance from him, all sorrow's fled.

His blood is true, his heart bold too,

In his soft arms, strength, protection, dwells

And his face with noble pity swells.
His blood is true, his heart bold too,
Blest the one whom those dear arms may woo!

1816..
-----
SICILIAN SONG.

YE black and roguish eyes,

If ye command.
Each house in ruins lies,

No town can stand.
And shall my bosom's chain,--

This plaster wall,Ä
To think one moment, deign,--