The bird and the bell, with other poems | ||
XXXV.
See Sicily, whose blood is Ætna's veinsOf sleepless fire, heave with volcanic pants,
Seething, a restless surge of hearts and brains,
Till Garibaldi's quick Ithuriel lance
Wakes the whole South from its long, troubled trance,
And Naples, catching the contagious flame,
Welcomes her hero in with blessings on his name!
The bird and the bell, with other poems | ||