Liberty and God. A voice from the orient, A voice from the Occident, A voice from thy deserts, A voice of echoes from the open graves, Accuses thee, thou shameless harlot! Drunk Art thou with blood of saints, and thou hast lain With all the kings of earth. Ah, you behold her! She is clothed on with purple; gold and pearls And gems are heaped upon her; and her vestments Once white, the pleasure of her former spouse, That now's in heaven, she has dragged in dust. Lo, is she full of names and blasphemies, And on her brow is written _Mystery!_ Ah, nevermore you hear her voice console The afflicted; all she threatens, and creates With her perennial curse in trembling souls Ineffable pangs; the unhappy--as we here Are all of us--fly in their common sorrows To embrace each other; she, the cruel one, Sunders them in the name of Jesus; fathers She kindles against sons, and wives she parts From husbands, and she makes a war between Harmonious brothers; of the Evangel she Is cruel interpreter, and teaches hate Out of the book of love. The years are come Whereof the rapt Evangelist of Patmos Did prophesy; and, to deceive the people, Satan has broken the chains he bore of old; And she, the cruel, on the infinite waters Of tears that are poured out for her, sits throned. The enemy of man two goblets places Unto her shameless lips; and one is blood, And gold is in the other; greedy and fierce She drinks so from them both, the world knows not If she of blood or gold have greater thirst.... Lord, those that fled before thy scourge of old No longer stand to barter offerings About thy temple's borders, but within Man's self is sold, and thine own blood is trafficked, Thou son of God! The people ask Arnaldo what he counsels them to do, and he advises them to restore the senate and the tribunes, appealing to the glorious memories of the place where they stand, the Capitoline Hill: Where the earth calls at every step, “Oh, pause, Thou treadest on a hero!” They desire to make him a tribune, but he refuses, promising, however, that he will not withhold his counsel. Whilst he speaks, some cardinals, with nobles of the papal party, appear, and announce the election of the new Pope, Adrian. “What is his name?” the people demand; and a cardinal answers, “Breakspear, a Briton.” Giordano exclaims: Impious race! you've chosen Rome for shepherd A cruel barbarian, and even his name Tortures our ears.