Chapter VIII

The crowd it frolics, shouts and sings,
Disturbs Rome's usual quiet;
Mad folly high her banner swings,
And thronging masks run riot.

Now up and down the Corso pace
Gay coaches 'mid wild showers;
The Carnival's great sport takes place,
The fight with chalk and flowers.

Confetti and fair roses fly,
Bouquets are thickly raining.
That hit--good luck! how glows her eye!
Thou art the victory gaining.

And thou, my heart, mirth also show,
Forget what thou hast suffered;
Let bygone times and bygone woe
With flowers sweet be covered.