He seized my children, bore my wife away,
Pillaged my fields, and wrapt my house in flame—
We met, we wrestled, and I overcame!
Again the battle-summons strikes my ear,
Hordes of fresh foes upon our isle appear
Lombards and Turks and Arragon's proud sons,—
Again my hand is raised—my life-blood runs!
Again I see my roof-tree overthrown;
I weep not—Liberty is still my own!
Then Genoa came—be curse on curse up-piled!