POSTHUMOUS POEMS
VIII
For wheresoe'er thou lookest, death is there,
And a slow curse that stains the sacred air:
Such as must hound Italia till she learn
Whereon to lean the weight of reverent trust
Learn to see God within her, and not bare
Her glories to the ravenous eyes of lust;
Vain of dishonour that proclaims her fair.
Such insolence of listless pride must earn
The scourge of Austria—till mischance in turn
Defile her eagles with fresh blood and dust.
For tho' the faint heart burn
In silence: yet a sullen flame is there
Which yet may leap into the sunless air
And gather in the embrace of its wide wings
The shining spoil of kings.
For wheresoe'er thou lookest, death is there,
And a slow curse that stains the sacred air:
Such as must hound Italia till she learn
Whereon to lean the weight of reverent trust
Learn to see God within her, and not bare
Her glories to the ravenous eyes of lust;
Vain of dishonour that proclaims her fair.
Such insolence of listless pride must earn
The scourge of Austria—till mischance in turn
Defile her eagles with fresh blood and dust.
For tho' the faint heart burn
In silence: yet a sullen flame is there
Which yet may leap into the sunless air
And gather in the embrace of its wide wings
The shining spoil of kings.
IX
But now the curse lies heavy. Where art thou,
Our Italy, among all these laid low
Too powerless or too desperate to speak—
Thou, robed in purple for a priestly show,
Thou, buffeted and stricken, blind and weak!
Doth not remembrance light thine utter woe?
Thine eyes beyond this Calvary look, altho'
But now the curse lies heavy. Where art thou,
Our Italy, among all these laid low
Too powerless or too desperate to speak—
Thou, robed in purple for a priestly show,
Thou, buffeted and stricken, blind and weak!
Doth not remembrance light thine utter woe?
Thine eyes beyond this Calvary look, altho'
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