ODE TO MAZZINI
Brute-handed Austria smite thee on the cheek
And her thorns pierce thy forehead, white and meek;
In lurid mist half-strangled sunbeams pine,
Yet purer than the flame of tainted altars;
And tho' thy weak hope falters,
It clings not to the desecrated shrine.
Tho' thy blank eyes look wanly thro' dull tears,
And thy weak soul is heavy with blind fears,
Yet art thou greater than thy sorrow is,
Yet is thy spirit nobler than of yore,
Knowing the keys thy reverence used to kiss
Were forged for emperors to bow down before,
Not for free men to worship: So that Faith,
Blind portress of the gate which opens death,
Shall never prate of Freedom any more;
For on a priest's tongue such a word is strange,
And when they laud who did but now revile,
Shall we believe? Rome's lying lips defile
The graves of heroes, giving us in change
Enough of Saints and Bourbons, Dare ye now
Receive her who speaks pleasant words and bland
And stretches out the blessing of her hand
While the pure blood of freemen stains her brow?
O dream not of such reconcilement! Be
At least in spirit free
When the great sunrise floods your glorious land.
And her thorns pierce thy forehead, white and meek;
In lurid mist half-strangled sunbeams pine,
Yet purer than the flame of tainted altars;
And tho' thy weak hope falters,
It clings not to the desecrated shrine.
Tho' thy blank eyes look wanly thro' dull tears,
And thy weak soul is heavy with blind fears,
Yet art thou greater than thy sorrow is,
Yet is thy spirit nobler than of yore,
Knowing the keys thy reverence used to kiss
Were forged for emperors to bow down before,
Not for free men to worship: So that Faith,
Blind portress of the gate which opens death,
Shall never prate of Freedom any more;
For on a priest's tongue such a word is strange,
And when they laud who did but now revile,
Shall we believe? Rome's lying lips defile
The graves of heroes, giving us in change
Enough of Saints and Bourbons, Dare ye now
Receive her who speaks pleasant words and bland
And stretches out the blessing of her hand
While the pure blood of freemen stains her brow?
O dream not of such reconcilement! Be
At least in spirit free
When the great sunrise floods your glorious land.
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