grave,
It shall rise from the field like the sun from the wave.
Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!
Blow, trumpets, blow,
Blow, trumpets, blow,
Gaily to glory we come;
Like a king in his pomp,
To the blast of the tromp,
And the roar of the mighty drum!
Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!

In this order they reached the wide waste that ruin and devastation
left within the gates, and, marshalled in long lines on either side,
extending far down the vistaed streets, and leaving a broad space in the
centre, awaited the order of their leader.

"Throw open the gates, and admit the foe!" cried Rienzi, with a loud
voice; as the trumpets of the Barons, announced their approach.

Meanwhile the insurgent Patricians, who had marched that morning from a
place called the Monument, four miles distant, came gallantly and boldly
on.

With old Stephen, whose great height, gaunt frame, and lordly air,
shewed well in his gorgeous mail, rode his sons,--the Frangipani and the
Savelli, and Giordano Orsini, brother to Rinaldo.

"Today the tyrant shall perish!" said the proud Baron; "and the flag of
the Colonna shall wave from the Capitol."

"The flag of the Bear," said Giordano Orsini, angrily.--"The victory
will not be yours alone, my Lord!"

"Our house ever took precedence in Rome," replied the Colonna,
haughtily.

"Never, while one stone of the palaces of the Orsini stands upon
another."

"Hush!" said Luca di Savelli; "are ye dividing the skin while the lion
lives? We shall have fierce work today."

"Not so," said the old Colonna; "John di Vico will turn, with his
Romans, at the first onset, and some of the malcontents within have
promised to open the gates.--How, knave?" as a scout rode up breathless
to the Baron. "What tidings?"

"The gates are opened--not a spear gleams from the walls!"

"Did I not tell ye, Lords?" said the Colonna, turning round
triumphantly. "Methinks we shall win Rome without a single
blow.--Grandson, where now are thy silly forebodings?" This was said to
Pietro, one of his grandsons--the first-born of Gianni--a comely youth,
not two weeks wedded, who made no reply. "My little Pietro here,"
continued the Baron, speaking to his comrades, "is so new a bridegroom,
that last night he dreamed of his bride; and deems it, poor lad, a
portent."

"She was in deep mourning, and gl