John Mitford - At Genoa, 1822 lyrics

Rise, Genoa, rise in beauty from the sea, Old Doria's blood is flowing in thy veins! Rise, peerless in thy beauty! what remains Of thy old glory is enough for me. Flow then, ye emerald waters, bright and free; And breathe, ye orange groves, along her plains; Ye fountains, sparkle through her marble fanes: And hang aloft, thou rich and purple sky, Hang up thy gorgeous canopy: thou Sun, Shine on her marble palaces that gleam Like silver in thy never-dying beam: Think of the years of glory she has won; She must not sink before her race is run, Nor her long age of conquest seem a dream.