Pour down; nor wouldst thou wield an alien brand,
And fight thy battles with the stranger’s hand,
Still, still a slave, victorious or subdued!
PASTORINI.
“Genova mia! se con asciutto ciglio.”
If thus thy fallen grandeur I behold,
My native Genoa! with a tearless eye,
Think not thy son’s ungrateful heart is cold;
But know—I deem rebellious every sigh!
Thy glorious ruins proudly I survey,