XIX

 
All perfection Heaven showers on us,
All imperfection born beneath the skies,
All that regales our spirits and our eyes,
And all those things that devour our pleasures:

All those ills that strip our age of treasures,
All the good the centuries might devise,
Rome in ancestral times secured as prize,
Like Pandora’s box, enclosed the measure.

But Destiny, untangling this chaos,
In which all good and evil once were lost,
Has since ensured the heavenly virtues,

Flying skywards, left the vices behind,
Which, till this day, remain here confined,
Concealed within these ruined avenues.