I.
Florence, Bologna, Parma, Modena:
        When you named them a year ago,
So many graves reserved by God, in a
        Day of Judgment, you seemed to know,
To open and let out the resurrection.

II.
And meantime (you made your reflection
        If you were English), was nought to be done
But sorting sables, in predilection
        For all those martyrs dead and gone,
Till the new earth and heaven made ready.

III.
And if your politics were not heady,
        Violent, ... “Good,” you added, “good
In all things! Mourn on sure and steady.
        Churchyard thistles are wholesome food
For our European wandering asses.

IV.
“The date of the resurrection passes
        Human foreknowledge: men unborn
Will gain by it (even in the lower classes),
        But none of these. It is not the morn
Because the cock of France is crowing.
V.
“Cocks crow at midnight, seldom knowing
        Starlight from dawn-light! ’t is a mad
Poor creature.” Here you paused, and growing
        Scornful,—suddenly, let us add,
The trumpet sounded, the graves were open.

VI.
Life and life and life! agrope in
        The dusk of death, warm hands, stretched out
For swords, proved more life still to hope in,
        Beyond and behind. Arise with a shout,
Nation of Italy, slain and buried!


VII.
Hill to hill and turret to turret
        Flashing the tricolor,—newly created
Beautiful Italy, calm, unhurried,
        Rise heroic and renovated,
Rise to the final restitution.

VIII.
Rise; prefigure the grand solution
        Of earth’s municipal, insular schisms,—
Statesmen draping self-love’s conclusion
        In cheap vernacular patriotisms,
Unable to give up Judæa for Jesus.
IX.
Bring us the higher example; release us
        Into the larger coming time:
And into Christ’s broad garment piece us
        Rags of virtue as poor as crime,
National selfishness, civic vaunting.

X.
No more Jew nor Greek then,—taunting
        Nor taunted;—no more England nor France!
But one confederate brotherhood planting
        One flag only, to mark the advance,
Onward and upward, of all humanity.

XI.
For civilization perfected
        Is fully developed Christianity.
“Measure the frontier,” shall it be said,
        “Count the ships,” in national vanity?
—Count the nation’s heart-beats sooner.

XII.
For, though behind by a cannon or schooner,
        That nation still is predominant
Whose pulse beats quickest in zeal to oppugn or
        Succour another, in wrong or want,
Passing the frontier in love and abhorrence.
XIII.
Modena, Parma, Bologna, Florence,
        Open us out the wider way!
Dwarf in that chapel of old Saint Lawrence
        Your Michel Angelo’s giant Day,
With the grandeur of this Day breaking o’er us!

XIV.
Ye who, restrained as an ancient chorus,
        Mute while the coryphæus spake,
Hush your separate voices before us,
        Sink your separate lives for the sake
Of one sole Italy’s living for ever!


XV.
Givers of coat and cloak too,—never
        Grudging that purple of yours at the best,
By your heroic will and endeavour
        Each sublimely dispossessed,
That all may inherit what each surrenders!

XVI.
Earth shall bless you, O noble emenders
        On egotist nations! Ye shall lead
The plough of the world, and sow new splendours
        Into the furrow of things for seed,—
Ever the richer for what ye have given.

XVII.
Lead us and teach us, till earth and heaven
        Grow larger around us and higher above.
Our sacrament-bread has a bitter leaven;
        We bait our traps with the name of love,
Till hate itself has a kinder meaning.

XVIII.
Oh, this world: this cheating and screening
        Of cheats! this conscience for candle-wicks,
Not beacon-fires! this overweening
        Of underhand diplomatical tricks,
Dared for the country while scorned for the counter!

XIX.
Oh, this envy of those who mount here,
        And oh, this malice to make them trip!
Rather quenching the fire there, drying the fount here,
        To frozen body and thirsty lip,
Than leave to a neighbour their ministration.

XX.
I cry aloud in my poet-passion,
        Viewing my England o’er Alp and sea.
I loved her more in her ancient fashion:
        She carries her rifles too thick for me
Who spares them so in the cause of a brother.

XXI.
Suspicion, panic? end this pother.
        The sword, kept sheathless at peace-time, rusts.
None fears for himself while he feels for another:
        The brave man either fights or trusts,
And wears no mail in his private chamber.

XXII.
Beautiful Italy! golden amber
        Warm with the kisses of lover and traitor!
Thou who hast drawn us on to remember,
        Draw us to hope now: let us be greater
By this new future than that old story.

XXIII.
Till truer glory replaces all glory,
        As the torch grows blind at the dawn of day;
And the nations, rising up, their sorry
        And foolish sins shall put away,
As children their toys when the teacher enters.

XXIV.
Till Love’s one centre devour these centres
        Of many self-loves; and the patriot’s trick
To better his land by egotist ventures,
        Defamed from a virtue, shall make men sick,
As the scalp at the belt of some red hero.

XXV.
For certain virtues have dropped to zero,
        Left by the sun on the mountain’s dewy side;
Churchman’s charities, tender as Nero,
        Indian suttee, heathen suicide,
Service to rights divine, proved hollow:

XXVI.
And Heptarchy patriotisms must follow.
        —National voices, distinct yet dependent,
Ensphering each other, as swallow does swallow,
        With circles still widening and ever ascendant,
In multiform life to united progression,—

XXVII.
These shall remain. And when, in the session
        Of nations, the separate language is heard,
Each shall aspire, in sublime indiscretion,
        To help with a thought or exalt with a word
Less her own than her rival’s honour.

XXVIII.
Each Christian nation shall take upon her
        The law of the Christian man in vast:
The crown of the getter shall fall to the donor,
        And last shall be first while first shall be last,
And to love best shall still be, to reign unsurpasse