DAY-DAWN IN ITALY.
35
The thunders of the Vatican
Had long since died away;
Saint Peter’s chair seemed tottering,
And crumbling to decay.
Had long since died away;
Saint Peter’s chair seemed tottering,
And crumbling to decay.
Thy ancient line of Pontiff Kings
Was to the past allied;
And oft in Freedom’s holy wars,
They fought not on her side.
Was to the past allied;
And oft in Freedom’s holy wars,
They fought not on her side.
The sacred banner of the Cross
Was trailing, soiled and torn;
And often had the hostile ranks
That blessed ensign borne.
Was trailing, soiled and torn;
And often had the hostile ranks
That blessed ensign borne.
But from her death-like slumber now,
The seven-hilled city wakes:
Italia! on thy shrouded sky,
A gleam of morning breaks.
The seven-hilled city wakes:
Italia! on thy shrouded sky,
A gleam of morning breaks.
Along the Alps and Appenines
Runs an electric thrill;
A golden splendor lights once more
The Capitolian hill.
Runs an electric thrill;
A golden splendor lights once more
The Capitolian hill.
And hopes, bright as thy sunny skies,
Are o’er thy future cast;
Are o’er thy future cast;