 | My Lyrical Life |  |
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ONE OF GARIBALDI'S MEN.
A crippled Child, a weak wan Boy,
Sat by his Mother's side,—
A widowed Mother's gentle joy,
Her only wealth and pride:
One of those Spirits, sweet and sad,
That breathe with burdened breath;
Are grave in life, but calmly glad
Their faces smile in death.
Sat by his Mother's side,—
A widowed Mother's gentle joy,
Her only wealth and pride:
One of those Spirits, sweet and sad,
That breathe with burdened breath;
Are grave in life, but calmly glad
Their faces smile in death.
With a weird lustre in his look,
Over his books he pored,
Like one that, in a secret nook,
Sharpens a patriot sword.
The story of his Country's wrongs
Made his heart melt in tears;
The music of her olden songs
Rang ever in his ears.
Over his books he pored,
Like one that, in a secret nook,
Sharpens a patriot sword.
The story of his Country's wrongs
Made his heart melt in tears;
The music of her olden songs
Rang ever in his ears.
Oft in his face, white as a corse,
Brave Soldier-blood up-springs,
Hot as the Warrior leaps to horse,
When Battle's trumpet rings;
With spirit afloat and sense aflame,
Where Freedom's banners wave,
To win a name of glorious fame,
Or fill a Soldier's grave.
Brave Soldier-blood up-springs,
Hot as the Warrior leaps to horse,
When Battle's trumpet rings;
With spirit afloat and sense aflame,
Where Freedom's banners wave,
To win a name of glorious fame,
Or fill a Soldier's grave.
The leal heart of a loving Maid
Ran over towards him,
Longing with kisses to be stayed
There at the ruddy brim!—
But hushed the yearning in her breast,
Nor murmur made nor moan;
She looked as though she had found the nest,
And, lo! the Bird was flown.
Ran over towards him,
Longing with kisses to be stayed
There at the ruddy brim!—
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Nor murmur made nor moan;
She looked as though she had found the nest,
And, lo! the Bird was flown.
Suddenly, Freedom's thunder-horn
The graveyard stillness broke;—
It was the Resurrection-Morn,
And Italy awoke!
He felt her majesty and strength
Up-lift his spirit too:
To Manhood he had leaped at length,
And almost stately grew.
The graveyard stillness broke;—
It was the Resurrection-Morn,
And Italy awoke!
He felt her majesty and strength
Up-lift his spirit too:
To Manhood he had leaped at length,
And almost stately grew.
Then came, with all they had to give,
Each fervid worshipper:
And he, too, not worth much to live,
At least could die for her!
The Widow lent her only Child,
And bade him help to win;
While outwardly her proud face smiled,
She—dropping tears within!
Each fervid worshipper:
And he, too, not worth much to live,
At least could die for her!
The Widow lent her only Child,
And bade him help to win;
While outwardly her proud face smiled,
She—dropping tears within!
The General looked on this young life
Held out in hands so small!
He could not, for the battle-strife,
Take the poor Widow's all.
“Poor Child!” he said, “rest you at home,
For the good Mother's sake;
We'll not forget you when we come.”
It made his old heart ache.
Held out in hands so small!
He could not, for the battle-strife,
Take the poor Widow's all.
“Poor Child!” he said, “rest you at home,
For the good Mother's sake;
We'll not forget you when we come.”
It made his old heart ache.
'Twas at the close of a great day,
The “Red-Shirts” raised their cheer,
For Garibaldi came to say,
“Well done”! One cried, “I'm here!
And wounded in the Battle's brunt.”
“What! hit behind, my Child?
But brave men wear their wounds in front,”
And playfully he smiled.
The “Red-Shirts” raised their cheer,
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“Well done”! One cried, “I'm here!
And wounded in the Battle's brunt.”
“What! hit behind, my Child?
But brave men wear their wounds in front,”
And playfully he smiled.
Again, at the Volturno's fight,
The Boy led on his band;
Uplifted there on Capua's height,
He saw the Promised Land,
As Pilgrims watch their Mecca rise
Over the desert's rim;
He saw—possessed it with his eyes!
Enough, enough for him.
The Boy led on his band;
Uplifted there on Capua's height,
He saw the Promised Land,
As Pilgrims watch their Mecca rise
Over the desert's rim;
He saw—possessed it with his eyes!
Enough, enough for him.
Proud of his Boys, the General rode
Past faces all aflame,
And praised them; and their spirits glowed
As if from heaven he came.
Then something caught his eye; he reined
His horse; stooped like a grand
Old weather-beaten Angel, stained
With battle-smoke, and tanned.
Past faces all aflame,
And praised them; and their spirits glowed
As if from heaven he came.
Then something caught his eye; he reined
His horse; stooped like a grand
Old weather-beaten Angel, stained
With battle-smoke, and tanned.
With look more keen than cry or call,
One staggered from the rest:
“I'm hit once more, my General,
And”—pointing to his breast—
“This time—see! 'tis in the right place.”
His smile was strangely sweet;
He looked in Garibaldi's face,
And fell dead at his feet!
One staggered from the rest:
“I'm hit once more, my General,
And”—pointing to his breast—
“This time—see! 'tis in the right place.”
His smile was strangely sweet;
He looked in Garibaldi's face,
And fell dead at his feet!
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