Restore, dear chief, the light thou tak'st away:Ah! when, like spring, that gracious mien of thineDawns on thy Rome, more gently glides the day,And suns serener shine.See her whose darling child a long year pastHas dwelt beyond the wild Carpathian foam;That long year o'er, the envious southern blastStill bars him from his home:Weeping and praying to the shore she clings,Nor ever thence her straining eyesight turns:So, smit by loyal passion's restless stings,Rome for her Caesar yearns.In safety range the cattle o'er the mead:Sweet Peace, soft Plenty, swell the golden grain:O'er unvex'd seas the sailors blithely speed:Fair Honour shrinks from stain:No guilty lusts the shrine of home defile:Cleansed is the hand without, the heart within:The father's features in his children smileSwift vengeance follows sin.