 | Italy and Other Poems |  |
220
TO THE CARDINAL MINISTER CONSALVI.
Rome—May 22, 1817.
Thou, whose unyielding hand the fetter broke,
Thou, at whose foot the riven chain yet rings,
That link'd the might and majesty of kings
To Guilt's proud brow and Murder's hireling yoke:
Rome round thy front her civic garland binds.
Yet, tho' no longer pointing to the slain,
The grim assassin barters blood for gain,
Basks in the light of day, and taints the winds
With scent of death: bold Statesman! firm of soul,
Advance!—not yet thy glorious course is run—
Free yon Tribunal to the searching sun—
Advance!—there, Justice at th' appointed goal
Shall fix thy guardian image on her shrine,
And Mercy o'er thee wave a wreath divine.
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