Thy sun to thee his glowing light hath given;
The very sail that rides thy swelling seas,
When thy far borders greet the welcoming breeze,
Conscious and fluttering at some high command,
Adoring bends to touch thy sacred sand!
Widow of nations! long, ah! long be thine
The homage deep which makes thee thus divine!
The trophies of past grandeur, great though vain,
Which at thy feet in Rome’s proud dust remain!
Be all of thine, even ruin, consecrate!