 | Uncollected Poems of James Russell Lowell |  |
PESCHIERA
What voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost?
“'Tis better to have fought and lost
Than never to have fought at all.”
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost?
“'Tis better to have fought and lost
Than never to have fought at all.”
The Tricolor, a trampled rag,
Lies, dirt and dust; the lines I track,
By sentry-boxes yellow-black,
Lead up to no Italian flag.
Lies, dirt and dust; the lines I track,
By sentry-boxes yellow-black,
Lead up to no Italian flag.
I see the Croat soldier stand
Upon the grass of your redoubts;
The Eagle with his black wing flouts
The breadth and beauty of your land.
Upon the grass of your redoubts;
The Eagle with his black wing flouts
The breadth and beauty of your land.
Yet not in vain, although in vain
O! men of Brescia, on the day
Of loss past hope, I heard you say
Your welcome to the noble pain.
O! men of Brescia, on the day
Of loss past hope, I heard you say
Your welcome to the noble pain.
105
You said, “Since it is so, good-bye
Sweet life, high hope; but whatsoe'er
May be or must, no tongue shall dare
To tell, ‘The Lombard feared to die.’”
Sweet life, high hope; but whatsoe'er
May be or must, no tongue shall dare
To tell, ‘The Lombard feared to die.’”
You said, (there shall be answer fit,)
“And if our children must obey
They must, but thinking on this day
'Twill less debase them to submit.”
“And if our children must obey
They must, but thinking on this day
'Twill less debase them to submit.”
You said, (O! not in vain you said,)
“Haste, brothers, haste while yet we may;
The hours ebb fast of this one day
When blood may yet be nobly shed.”
“Haste, brothers, haste while yet we may;
The hours ebb fast of this one day
When blood may yet be nobly shed.”
Ah! not for idle hatred, not
For honor, fame, nor self-applause,
But for the glory of your cause,
You did what will not be forgot.
For honor, fame, nor self-applause,
But for the glory of your cause,
You did what will not be forgot.
And though the strangers stand, 'tis true
By force and fortune's right he stands;
By fortune which is in God's hands,
And strength which yet shall spring in you.
By force and fortune's right he stands;
By fortune which is in God's hands,
And strength which yet shall spring in you.
This voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,
“'Tis better to have fought and lost
Than never to have fought at all.”
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,
“'Tis better to have fought and lost
Than never to have fought at all.”
| Uncollected Poems of James Russell Lowell | |