Italia! oh, no more Italia now!

Italia! oh, no more Italia now!
Scarce of her form a vestige dost thou wear:
She was a queen with glory mantled--thou,
A slave, degraded, and compell’d to bear,
Chains gird thy hands and feet; deep clouds of care
Darken thy brow, once radiant as thy skies;
And shadows, born of terror and despair--
Shadows of death have dimm’d thy glorious eyes.
Italia! oh, Italia now no more!
For thee my tears of shame and anguish flow;
And the glad strains my lyre was wont to pour
Are changed to dirge-notes: but my deepest woe
Is, that base herds of thine own sons the while
Behold thy miseries with insulting smile.