On Italy's plains rolling far, from the top of the mountain,

He lifted both hands to the heavens, his voice rose in prayer:

'Omnipotent Jove, and thou, refuge of Saturn whose glory

Was brightened by feats of my armies and crowned with my triumphs,

Bear witness! Unwillingly summon I Mars to these armies,

Unwillingly draw I the sword! But injustice compels me.

While enemy blood dyes the Rhine and the Alps are held firmly

Repulsing a second assault of the Gauls on our city,

She dubs me an outcast! And Victory makes me an exile!

To triumphs three score, and defeats of the Germans, my treason

I trace! How can they fear my glory or see in my battles

A menace? But hirelings, and vile, to whom my Rome is but a

Stepmother! Methinks that no craven this sword arm shall hamper

And take not a stroke in repost. On to victory, comrades,

While anger seethes hot. With the sword we will seek a decision