When they in blood were steeped so mightily.
In ancient days thy predecessors swayed
The power earth’s horrid wars to quell,
But ah, alas! their might is but remembrance dim,
And now brute arms their triumphs tell.
O mighty monarchs! Yours, yours is the blame
That we have holy Pius lost,
For ye have stirred the wars that racked his frame,
And his great life is now th’atoning cost.