To Charles Dickens

Go then to Italy; but mind     To leave the pale low France behind;     Pass through that country, nor ascend     The Rhine, nor over Tyrol wend:     Thus all at once shall rise more grand     The glories of the ancient land.     Dickens! how often, when the air     Breath'd genially, I've thought me there,     And rais'd to heaven my thankful eyes     To see three spans of deep blue skies.     In Genoa now I hear a stir,     A shout ... _Here comes the Minister!_     Yes, thou art he, although not sent     By cabinet or parliament:     Yes, thou art he. Since Milton's youth     Bloom'd in the Eden of the South,     Spirit so pure and lofty none     Hath heavenly Genius from his throne     Deputed on the banks of Thames     To speak his voice and urge his claims.     Let every nation know from thee     How less than lovely Italy     Is the whole world beside; let all     Into their grateful breasts recall     How Prospero and Miranda dwelt     In Italy: the griefs that melt     The stoniest heart, each sacred tear     One lacrymatory gathered here;     All Desdemona's, all that fell     In playful Juliet's bridal cell.     Ah! could my steps in life's decline     Accompany or follow thine!     But my own vines are not for me     To prune, or from afar to see.     I miss the tales I used to tell     With cordial Hare and joyous Gell,     And that good old Archbishop whose     Cool library, at evening's close     (Soon as from Ischia swept the gale     And heav'd and left the dark'ning sail),     Its lofty portal open'd wide     To me, and very few beside:     Yet large his kindness. Still the poor     Flock round Taranto's palace door,     And find no other to replace     The noblest of a noble race.     Amid our converse you would see     Each with white cat upon his knee,     And flattering that grand company:     For Persian kings might proudly own     Such glorious cats to share the throne.     Write me few letters: I'm content     With what for all the world is meant;     Write then for all: but, since my breast     Is far more faithful than the rest,     Never shall any other share     With little Nelly nestling there.