Gaetana Passerini (1654–1714)

Translated by James Glassford, of Dougalston

IF still I can behold, and shed no tear,

Thy beauty, Genoa, mangled thus and torn,

Think not thy son disloyal, whom the fear

Of treason to thy state forbids to mourn.

Thy greatness in these ruins I revere,

Trophies of stern resolve and generous scorn;

At every step in every object near

I trace thy courage in thy dangers borne.

Above all victory is to suffer well;

And such is thine; with thee it still remains,

Thus in the dust and not disconsolate!

Now Freedom loves upon thy form to dwell,

And kisses every wound, and cries elate,

O yes, the Ruins ever, not the Chains!