March, march for your hearths and your altars! 
     Cursed to all time be the dastard that falters,
     Never on earth may his sins be forgiven
     Death on his soul, shut the portals of heaven! 
     A curse on his heart, and a curse on his brain!—­
     Who strikes not for Rome, shall to Rome be her Cain! 
     Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears,
     Spirito Santo, Cavaliers!

(Rienzi’s word of battle was “Spirito Santo Cavaliere”, i.e.  Cavalier in the singular number.  The plural number has been employed in the text, as somewhat more animated, and therefore better adapted to the kind of poetry into the service of which the watchword has been pressed.)

     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!

     2.

     March, march for your Freedom and Laws! 
     Earth is your witness—­all Earth’s is your cause! 
     Seraph and saint from their glory shall heed ye,
     The angel that smote the Assyrian shall lead ye;
     To the Christ of the Cross man is never so holy
     As in braving the proud in defence of the lowly! 
     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!

     3.

     March, march! ye are sons of the Roman,
     The sound of whose step was as fate to the foeman! 
     Whose realm, save the air and the wave, had no wall,
     As he strode through the world like a lord in his hall;
     Though your fame hath sunk down to the night of the 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.