Chapter X

My heart is filled with rancour,
The storm howls all around;
Thou art the man I want now,
Thou false Italian hound.

Thy dagger's thrust I parried;
Now, worthy friend, beware
How from a German sword's stroke
Thy Italian skull will fare.

The sun's last rays had vanished
Far from the Vatican;
It rose to shine next morning
Upon a lifeless man.