Where shall I turn me not to view its bonds,

For I will never feel them?—Italy!

Thy late reviving Roman soul desponds

Beneath the lie this State-thing breathed o'er thee[11]—Thy clanking chain, and Erin's yet green wounds,

Have voices—tongues to cry aloud for me.

Europe has slaves—allies—kings—armies still—

And Southey lives to sing them very ill.