In those dim days of old,
What sons were then Italia’s pride, 10
And what the arms that blazed so wide:
For ye are goddesses: full well
Your mind takes note, your tongue can tell:
The far-off whisper of the years
Scarce reaches our bewildered ears. 15
Mezentius first from Tyrrhene coast,
Who mocks at heaven, arrays his host,
And braves the battle’s storm: