along whose rim is entwined a wreath of peaceful olive
mixed with the laurel eternal;
and so the radiant goblet Italia the Mother holds forth
with lofty arms to the gods;
and they from the skies have let thee fall in, O Sermio,
thee, the peninsular jewel!
Above, the paternal mountain boldly stands guard o'er thy beauty,
watching with gloomy eyebrow.
Beneath lies the land like a Titan slain in some desperate battle,
prostrate, but threatening revenge.