Thou mighty one, whose winged words of yore
Have spread on history’s page Italia’s wars,
The sad mischances of intestine jars,
Like beacons blazing where the breakers roar.
Still canst thou glance out civil discords o’er?
Some solace for us canst thou not divine?
Canst thou not oil on troubled waters pour,
And soothe each petty tyrants ruthless mind?
Why else unveil the falsehood of our land,
Which sees not why its tale thou deign’st to tell?