Pi u non potea stral di Fortuna, o dente
Fortune's worst shafts could ne'er have reached me more
Nor envy's poison'd fangs — By both assailed
In innocence of soul completely mailed
I scorned the hate whose power to wound was o'er:
When Thou — whom in my heart of hearts I wore,
And as my rock of refuge often sought —
Turned on myself the very arms I wrought
And Heaven beheld — and suffered what I bore!
O holy Faith! O Love! how all thy laws
Are mocked and scorned — I throw my shield away
Conquered by fraud. ... Go! seek thy feat's applause
Traitor! — yet still half-mourned with fond delay. ...
The hand not blow is of my tears the cause,
And more thy guilt than my own pain I weigh!
Nor envy's poison'd fangs — By both assailed
In innocence of soul completely mailed
I scorned the hate whose power to wound was o'er:
When Thou — whom in my heart of hearts I wore,
And as my rock of refuge often sought —
Turned on myself the very arms I wrought
And Heaven beheld — and suffered what I bore!
O holy Faith! O Love! how all thy laws
Are mocked and scorned — I throw my shield away
Conquered by fraud. ... Go! seek thy feat's applause
Traitor! — yet still half-mourned with fond delay. ...
The hand not blow is of my tears the cause,
And more thy guilt than my own pain I weigh!
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