To see the hated foeman of our race
Led past the palace on his way to die!
My love, my husband, my Ippolito,
Led past our palace on his way to die!
Long time we waited, till the fear began
To stir that some mischance had marred the plan,
And the procession by another street
Might pass, and so we miss the spectacle,
This was their fear, and my fear was the same;
And still I sat and smiled, and while the bells