“But see! each Muse, in Leo's golden days,Starts from her trance, and trims her withered bays;Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread,Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverend head.Then sculpture and her sister-arts revive;Stones leaped to form, and rocks began to live;With sweeter notes each rising temple rung;A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung!Immortal Vida! on whose honoured browThe poet's bays and critic's ivy grow:Cremona now shall ever boast thy name,As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!”