Is thy good name, since no degenerate head
Is looked for now its brightness to obscure.
But go thy ways now, Tuscan! more delight
I find in weeping than in words—too stirred
By this talk of our country.” We were quite
Sure those dear souls our way's direction heard,
And from their silence knew that we went right.
Soon as proceeding we became alone,
A voice, like lightning when it strikes, did say,
Rushing on tow'rds us with its thunderous tone,