Old Notabile[A] stands upon a hill
With olive groves and vineyards at its base,
Its lofty wall, half-ruined, beareth still
Of siege and battle many a cruel trace;
The centre of this lovely isle,—
The home of song and story,—
Whose tranquil beauty seems to smile
Forgetful of its glory.
Deserted streets of marble halls,
And temples grand and olden,