Until the province, late the happiest one
That brightens 'neath Italia's gorgeous sun,
Became, throughout, all desolate and lone,
For there the fell destroyer forth had gone.
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Lo! like a pageant, slowly up the vale,
A band advances, clad in glittering mail;
While, in the front, a knight of noble mien,
And lofty plume, above the rest is seen:
The peasants from their huts look forth with fear,