And the world look'd on with an unmoved eye!
Hear me, thou Stranger! Ponte Nuovo's height
Frown'd on me wounded in inglorious fight
With French officials trampling on my right.
Weeping, I shrunk off like a wounded deer,
Far from the slaughter-field to hide me here;
Weary at length—by such strife weary made—
Grudge not my rest beneath the olive-shade.