IF thus thy fallen grandeur I behold,
My native Genoa! with a tearless eye,
Think not thy son's ungrateful heart is cold,
But know—I deem rebellious every sigh!
Thy glorious ruins proudly I survey,
Trophies of firm resolve, of patriot might!
And in each trace of devastation's way,
Thy worth, thy courage, meet my wandering sight.
Triumphs far less than suffering virtue shine!
And on the spoilers high revenge is thine,
While thy strong spirit unsubdued remains.
And lo! fair Liberty rejoicing flies,
To kiss each noble relic, while she cries,
"Hail! though in ruins, thou wert ne'er in chains!"