[MS VIII, 79r-v]

Genoa
Now rouse thee ho. For Genoa straight
We did not for the dawning wait
the stars shone pale on Novis Gate,
And on the airy Apennine
Whose towery steeps, with morn elate,
Lay southward in a lengthened line
And we knew, and we knew, and we knew
That from Elba to the Alps, oer the seas broad blue
Where the wild waves wander, and white ripples shine
Looked the cloudy crest of the tall Apennine!
From the Torrents barren bed,
Bound by blocks of granite red,
Came the gay Cicadas song
Wheresoeer the dew was dank, 
On the tree, the shrub the bank,
All our scorching road along
Came the gay Cicadas song,
While beside our path was seen
Of various trees a vista green;
Into a streamlet looking down 
Whose living crystal shot between, 
A space of time
And think 
When first he saw the living deep,
With panting bosom, crimson shot,
Call its soothed billows from their sleep,<
That shout   The morn, from steep to steep 
When far away to seaward show.
Her first beamed solitary glow.
thou art, who hast not felt
Thou lovedst to be where seabirds dwelt,
To wander on the weary beach, 
Just on the line the wild waves reach,
Or watch the petrels flit before
The marching tempests warning roar,
And ocean eagles dark and proud,
And white winged ospreys skim the cloud 
And if thou neer hast felt as if
The ocean had a mind,
Nor held communion with the deep
And converse with the wind
When broad black waves before it roll
I would not think thou <del>t</del>hadst a soul.