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Exiled in childhood, sought for but to slay, I only re-assumed our ancient name, When, gathering all the remnants of our cause, I raised the banner of our line, and came A conqueror—who but only came to spare.

I would that I had earlier known your name.

How bitterly I mock the pride that kept My birth a secret; yet 'twas not all pride, I plann'd a glad surprise for her I loved; In the first dawn of my success, I sought The well-remember'd vineyards.

Farewell, Count Castruccio! had I known The name whose triumphs fill our Italy, I had not hoped as I have done for years; But I should still have loved: it does not need That words should say, the nameless, friendless girl Is nothing to the Lord of Lucca.

Weary and hard has been my path through life; Its brief success by danger has been bought, Yet knew I not its bitterness till now.

Farewell, my lord.

Hear me, Claricha—be yourself my judge— What Lucca was, let our first years recall: Years past in war and exile—when the land Had not one vineyard safe—one hearth secure—