Through the still air to Aretulla's breast
A dove came gliding down and sank to rest.
'Twas chance, you say: yet there the bird remained
And from its proffered liberty refrained.
It may be that a sister's pious love
Avails the ruler of this world to move,
And from Sardinia's shore, the exile's home,
The dove with news of pardon now has come.