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One race, alas! these foes, one kindred race, Were born and rear'd the same bright scenes among! The stranger calls them brothers—and each face That brotherhood reveals;—one common tongue Dwells on their lips;—the earth on which ye trace Their heart's blood, is the soil from whence they sprung. One mother gave them birth—this chosen land, Girdled with Alps and seas, by Nature's guardian hand.

Oh, grief and horror!—Who the first could dare Against a brother's breast the sword to wield? What cause unhallow'd and accursed, declare! Hath bathed with carnage this ignoble field? —Think'st thou they know?—they but inflict and share Misery and death, the motive unreveal'd! Sold to a leader, sold himself to die, With him they strive, they fall—and ask not why.

But are there none who love them?—Have they none, No wives, no mothers, who might rush between, And win with tears the husband and the son, Back to their homes from this polluted scene?