XXIX.

But one vast Shade (by whom a couchant form,
Monstrous, loomed dim) rose, threatful, far away,
And cried, "This pigmy Man-this evil swarm
Of restless, lawless, greedy imps, that prey
On Earth our Mother-shall he last for aye?
He dream to last, who gathereth bone by bone
All that is left now of the Mastodon ?"

XXX.

Then all exclaimed, “Thou, youngest in this hell; Much of the tale thou tellest, each one here

Of

many thousands had before to tell :

One thread of crimson wrath or sombre fear

In Fate's wide loom still runs through many a year.
Hast thou no star in night, no gleam of good
To mark thee out amidst our brotherhood?"

XXXI.

O venerable Fathers, he replied;

If summer boasteth of her full-blown flowers,
They yet were fostered to their perfect pride,
Through germ and bud, by many previous hours
Of wintry snows, of vernal suns and showers.
I wear, indeed, upon my brow one star,
By which I may be singled out afar.

XXXII.

A nation long was trodden in the dust
'Neath various and discordant tyrannies,
Until it seemed embruted to the lust
Of its base despots,-mortgaging for these
The priceless fame of olden centuries;

And, like the wretchedest of Circe's swine,
Drugging its all-sick soul with sensual wine.

XXXIII.

This nation is aroused from shore to shore;
The drunken lethargy is past away,
The drunken frenzies vex its brain no more.

The night is gone; the sullen lingering grey
Consumes in fires of the advancing day,

Whose crimson dawn shall have an azure noon
This people rise, to labor for its boon.

XXXIV.

The dreamer graspeth firmly Action's sword;
The coward plunges smiling down the grave,
To drag down with him tyranny abhorred;
The meanest miser and self-seeking knave
Give all up for their country; the poor slave
Of superstition dares to see the truth;
The long-oppressed is full of gentle ruth.

XXXV.

The Niobe' of nations, petrified,

With all her children prostrate at her feet,
Each with a barbed arrow in its side,

Hath started into sudden life to greet

With yearning love and wonder rapture-sweet
Her darlings waking from their trance of death;
Though two lie still, ev'n they breathe prescient
breath.

XXXVI.

Whence hath been poured this great electric thrill,
Of God-like power to quicken very stone
With life and soul, with hope and strength and

will?

Throughout that air, long filled with hopeless

moan,

A living Voice was heard supreme and lone,
Calm as the heavens and mighty as the sea,
Arise! arise, Italia! one and free!

XXXVII.

A Shade' stood up with interruption keen-
A woe-worn countenance, sad earnest eyes,

1 Byron, in "Childe Harold."

2 Dante. See the "Divine Comedy " throughout.

Brow-crowned with bitter bays, exalted mien-
"O slow-come triumph of my prophecies!
For this I never ceased to agonise,

In banishment, in pain, in want--or fed
As menials are with strangers' bitter bread."

XXXVIII.

Another Shadow-surely not of man,

But Seraph beautiful-above whose throne,
For motto, these two words "Cor Cordium" ran
In letters throbbing fire, stood next alone;

And chanted in a clear and solemn tone,

"Since now hope, truth, and justice, do avail, O Naples and Italia, hail, all hail!"

XXXIX.

The youngest looked up proud to that dim dome : Florence and Milan, Naples, Sicily,

Are crying out to Venice and to Rome,

"Ye soon shall rise to join our family,

And make us one inviolate Italy:

With fear-stung rage the Austrian frets, past bound;

The Papal thunders are innocuous sound."

1 Shelley. See the "Ode to Naples" (1820). Upon his tomb at Rome are inscribed the words "Cor Cordium".

XL.

How has such fruit by such a tree been borne ?
How has this Italy, in sheer despite

Of foes whose legions laughed her arms to scorn,
Of friends as false in heart as great in might,
Of statesmen plotting wrongs to help the right,
Of Europe selfish, of herself distract,
Wrought out her grand idea into fact?

XLI.

She has two noble sons; by these she is.
The Thinker; who, inspired from earliest youth,
In want and pain, in exile's miseries,

'Mid alien scorn, 'mid foes that knew not ruth, Has ever preached his spirit's inmost truth; Though friends waxed cold or turned their love to hate,

Though even now his country is ingrate.

XLII.

The Doer, whose high fame as purely shines
As His,' who heretofore Sicilia won

With victories flowing free as Homer's lines.

1 Timoleon's. See Plutarch's Lives; whence the simile in the following line.