A face so fair not Paphos’ queen could claim a grace so rare;
Ah! only she, the much-desired, such peerless mien could wear.
And low I heard her murmuring: “Ah! me, woe, woe is me!
So weary are my ears with sound of shouts that speak me free.
Free! Am I free? Upon my head rests weight of royal crown,
And Piedmont’s soldiers guard me, fearing lest I lay it down.
Italy! Am I Italy? That name indeed I bear;
And among the nations standing a nation’s crown I wear—
Proud empires that salute me fair, green lands beyond the sea,
Crying aloud: 'Shout, Italy! Thank Victor thou art free;