 | My Lyrical Life |  |
115
GARIBALDI IN EXILE.
How dimmed is all thy glory, and how dark the shadow falls;
How wildly wails the Sorrow through thy Hamlets and thy Halls!
Our Banner on the Seven Hills no longer beckons me;
The Dead alone are blessèd who thy suffering may not see.
How are thy brave ones scattered on many an Alien strand,
Thy Children leal and true to the Roman Motherland.
How wildly wails the Sorrow through thy Hamlets and thy Halls!
Our Banner on the Seven Hills no longer beckons me;
The Dead alone are blessèd who thy suffering may not see.
How are thy brave ones scattered on many an Alien strand,
Thy Children leal and true to the Roman Motherland.
The Birds that follow Summer, they come and they depart
For the Land of my love, and the Home of my heart:
And, like a wounded Bird, my spirit trembles in the wind,
And flutters down: and they are gone, and I am left behind.
O my Dovelets in the nest! O the Spoiler's bloody hand!
And I so far away from the Roman Motherland.
For the Land of my love, and the Home of my heart:
And, like a wounded Bird, my spirit trembles in the wind,
And flutters down: and they are gone, and I am left behind.
O my Dovelets in the nest! O the Spoiler's bloody hand!
And I so far away from the Roman Motherland.
116
They have bound thee in the Grave-clothes; but we watch with tears and sighs,
Till Freedom comes like Christ, and thou like Lazarus shalt rise.
Thy pale, pale face, my Country, yet shall flush with ripening bloom,
As Nature's colour kindles when the breath of Spring doth come.
Ah! come, thou Spring of promise; mighty Hope, put forth thy hand,
And build thy Arch of Triumph for the Roman Motherland.
Till Freedom comes like Christ, and thou like Lazarus shalt rise.
Thy pale, pale face, my Country, yet shall flush with ripening bloom,
As Nature's colour kindles when the breath of Spring doth come.
Ah! come, thou Spring of promise; mighty Hope, put forth thy hand,
And build thy Arch of Triumph for the Roman Motherland.
Sometimes when life is darkest, a glory bursts its glooms,
As Lightning through the startled night, the face of things illumes;
A sudden splendour smites me, and ere the thunders roll,
I see thy face look radiant through the darkness of my soul!
I see thee sitting at the feet of Freedom, great and grand,
Thy children happy in thy smile, thou Roman Motherland.
As Lightning through the startled night, the face of things illumes;
A sudden splendour smites me, and ere the thunders roll,
I see thy face look radiant through the darkness of my soul!
I see thee sitting at the feet of Freedom, great and grand,
Thy children happy in thy smile, thou Roman Motherland.
O thou among the Nations, for thy might, shalt yet be themed;
Thy fatal curse of Beauty by Love's blessing all redeemed!
The red wounds where they pierced thee, shall to scars of glory turn,
And in thy tearful eyes the light of boundless life shall burn.
The Heavens are filled with Martyrs, but our Earth still holds a band
Who will meet in battle yet for the Roman Motherland.
Thy fatal curse of Beauty by Love's blessing all redeemed!
The red wounds where they pierced thee, shall to scars of glory turn,
And in thy tearful eyes the light of boundless life shall burn.
117
Who will meet in battle yet for the Roman Motherland.
Many are the gallant hearts will never answer when
Thy clarion-cry shall call us all into the field again!
And many are the tears must fall, and prayers go up to God,
But still the Vintage ripens, and the Wine-press shall be trod!
The Harvest reddens rich for death, the Reapers clench the hand,
And Victory comes to claim his Bride, our Roman Motherland.
Thy clarion-cry shall call us all into the field again!
And many are the tears must fall, and prayers go up to God,
But still the Vintage ripens, and the Wine-press shall be trod!
The Harvest reddens rich for death, the Reapers clench the hand,
And Victory comes to claim his Bride, our Roman Motherland.
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