This world of ours was beautiful when Rome was great and free, And proudly shone her mountain-bird, the type of Liberty; When Freedom found a resting-place within those trophied walls, And circled with her eagle wing its temples and its halls; When on the yellow Tiber’s wave the shouts of victory came, And pride and glory mingled with the conqueror’s lauded name; Then came the proud triumphal march, the heroes crowned with bays; Oh! was not the world beautiful in those her palmy days? This world of ours was beautiful when Venice ruled the tide, And thousand voices rose to greet the old man’s ocean bride; The waters gladly danced around the castles old and proud, And from the latticed balconies, upon the passing crowd, Gleamed forth the light of beauty’s eye—Venetia’s daughters fair, With hearts as pure as were the gems that glistened in their hair; As bold in danger, true in love, as brave men’s brides should be; Oh! was not the world beautiful when Venice ruled the sea? This world of ours was beautiful when ’neath Italia’s skies Her passion sons, like meteor stars, flashed on their wondering eyes. Born in that sunny clime of love, where beauty tints the air, And earth and ocean, sun and shade, are more divinely fair; No marvel that their minds upgrew full freighted with each tone, And Love and Beauty sheltered them within their magic zone, Till all they saw and all they felt found in each work a birth; Oh! was not the world beautiful when Genius walked the earth! This world of ours was beautiful when by fair Arno’s stream Sweet Florence lay bedecked with gifts, like beauty in her dream; So soft her skies, so mild her suns, such perfume in each breeze, Such songs of gladness from her plains, such flowers upon the trees; And then her dowered children stood like jewels in her crown, Or sun-clad monuments on which Time’s rays come proudly down, To gild with beauty e’en decay—but what decay hast thou? Oh! was not the world beautiful when Florence decked her brow? This world of ours was beautiful in England’s palmy times, When merrily from church and tower pealed out the sportive chimes, When deep within the greenwood haunts dwelt honest men and free, With hearts as gay and minds as light as birds upon the tree; Right honestly the day was passed; at night, upon the green, All joining in the merry dance the young and old were seen, And many a jocund song was sung, and many a tale was told; Oh! was not the world beautiful in those good days of old?