For her cannon must be cast, and a nation she must live.
A nation crowned! Ah! royal state is very heavy dole;
All too quick the world’s pulse beats to heed plaint of weary soul.
Still with triumphant pæans did the poet’s verses ring:
“Shout, Italy, our Italy! all-joyous anthems sing!
Clang out, sad-voiced Roman bells! hail Piedmont’s Victor,—king!”
“Miserere, miserere,”
Sounded church and convent steeple;
“In thy mercy spare us, Saviour,
Leading back thy erring people.”