VIII. THE ROMAN GIRL. I. FAIR maid of Italia, How lovely art thou! Erect is thy bearing, Serene is thy brow. Yet deep in thy bosom A mystery lies, And Etnas of passion Look forth at thine eyes. II. We gaze on thy beauty, And deem at its shrine, The soul of thy country Is mirror'd in thine. That such as thou standest, The image might be, Of Rome in her beauty, Sad, earnest, and free. III. If such be thy peasants, Oh, heart-stricken Rome! From children unborn Will deliverance come. If such be thy maidens, Look up through thy tears, And trust, O Italia, The birth of the years! IV. Thy foes may oppress thee, Thy friends may betray, And both may be banded To spoil and to slay; |