Page:Italian Literature.pdf/54



! oh! no more Italia now! Scarce of her form a vestige dost thou wear; She was a Queen with glory mantled;—Thou, A slave, degraded, and compell'd to bear.

Chains gird thy hands and feet; deep clouds of care Darken thy brow, once radiant as thy skies; And shadows, born of terror and despair,— Shadows of death, have dimm'd thy glorious eyes.

Italia! oh! Italia now no more! For thee my tears of shame and anguish flow, And the glad strains my lyre was wont to pour Are chang'd to dirge-notes; but my deepest woe Is, that base herds of thine own sons the while, Behold thy miseries with insulting smile.