Low dost thou lie, O Rome, neath the foot of the Teuton

Slaves are thy men, and bent to the will of thy conqueror:

Whither hath gone, great city, the race

             that gave law to all nations,

Subdu’d the east and the west,

             and made them bow down to thy consuls.

Knew not defeat, but gave it to all who attack’d thee?

Dead! and replac’d by these wretches

             who cower in confusion

Dead! They who gave us this empire to guard and to live in

Rome, thou didst fall from thy pow’r

             with the proud race that made thee,

And we, base Italians, enjoy’d

             what we could not have builded.