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Never did nation's need evoke

Hero like him for aid, the while
A Continent was cannon-smoke

Or peace in slavery: this one Isle
Reflecting Nature: this one man

Her sea-hound and her mortal stroke,
With war-worn body aye in battle's van.

And do we love him well, as well
As he his country, we may greet,

With hand on steel, our passing bell
Nigh on the swing, for prelude sweet

To the music heard when his last breath
Hung on its ebb beside the knell,

And VICTORY in his ear sang gracious Death.
Ah, day of glory! day of tears!

Day of a people bowed as one!
Behold across those hundred years

The lion flash of gun at gun:
Our bitter pride; our love bereaved;

What pall of cloud o'ercame our sun
That day, to bear his wreath, the end achieved.

Joy that no more with murder's frown
The ancient rivals bark apart.

Now Nelson to brave France is shown
A hero after her own heart:

And he now scanning that quick race,
To whom through life his glove was thrown,

Would know a sister spirit to embrace.
THE CENTENARY OF GARIBALDI

We who have seen Italia in the throes,
Half risen but to be hurled to ground, and now

Like a ripe field of wheat where once drove plough
All bounteous as she is fair, we think of those

Who blew the breath of life into her frame:
Cavour, Mazzini, Garibaldi: Three:

Her Brain, her Soul, her Sword; and set her free
From ruinous discords, with one lustrous aim.

That aim, albeit they were of minds diverse,
Conjoined them, not to strive without surcease;

For them could be no babblement of peace
While lay their country under Slavery's curse.

The set of torn Italia's glorious day
Was ever sunrise in each filial breast.

Of eagle beaks by righteousness" target="_blank" title="n.正直;正当;正义">righteousness unblest
They felt her pulsing body made the prey.

Wherefore they struck, and had to count their dead.
With bitter smile of resolution nerved

To try new issues, holding faith unswerved,
Promise they gathered from the rich blood shed.

In them Italia, visible to us then
As living, rose; for proof that huge brute Force

Has never being from celestial source,
And is the lord of cravens, not of men.

Now breaking up the crust of temporal strife,
Who reads their acts enshrined in History, sees

That Tyrants were the Revolutionaries,
The Rebels men heart-vowed to hallowed life.

Pure as the Archangel's cleaving Darkness thro',
The Sword he sees, the keen unwearied Sword,

A single blade against a circling horde,
And aye for Freedom and the trampled few.

The cry of Liberty from dungeon cell,
From exile, was his God's command to smite,

As for a swim in sea he joined the fight,
With radiant face, full sure that he did well.

Behold a warriordealingmortal strokes,
Whose nature was a child's: amid his foes

A wary trickster: at the battle's close,
No gentler friend this leopard dashed with fox.

Down the long roll of History will run
The story of these deeds, and speed his race

Beneath defeat more hotly to embrace
The noble cause and trust to another sun.

And lo, that sun is in Italia's skies
This day, by grace of his good sword in part.

It beckons her to keep a warrior heart
For guard of beauty, all too sweet a prize.

Earth gave him: blessed be the Earth that gave.
Earth's Master crowned his honest work on earth:

Proudly Italia names his place of birth:
The bosom of Humanity his grave.

THE WILD ROSE
High climbs June's wild rose,

Her bush all blooms in a swarm;
And swift from the bud she blows,

In a day when the wooer is warm;
Frank to receive and give,

Her bosom is open to bee and sun:
Pride she has none,

Nor shame she knows;
Happy to live.

Unlike those of the garden nigh,
Her queenly sisters enthroned by art;

Loosening petals one by one
To the fiery Passion's dart

Superbly shy.
For them in some glory of hair,

Or nest of the heaving mounds to lie,
Or path of the bride bestrew.

Ever are they the theme for song.
But nought of that is her share.

Hardly from wayfarers tramping along,
A glance they care not to renew.

And she at a word of the claims of kin
Shrinks to the level of roads and meads:

She is only a plain princess of the weeds,
As an outcast witless of sin:

Much disregarded, save by the few
Who love her, that has not a spot of deceit,

No promise of sweet beyond sweet,
Often descending to sour.

On any fair breast she would die in an hour.
Praises she scarce could bear,

Were any wild poet to praise.
Her aim is to rise into light and air.

One of the darlings of Earth, no more,
And little it seems in the dusty ways,

Unless to the grasses nodding beneath;
The bird clapping wings to soar,

The clouds of an evetide's wreath.
THE CALL

Under what spell are we debased
By fears for our inviolate Isle,

Whose record is of dangers faced
And flung to heel with even smile?

Is it a vaster force, a subtler guile?
They say Exercitus designs

To match the famed Salsipotent
Where on her sceptre she reclines;

Awake: but were a slumber sent
By guilty gods, more fell his foul intent.

The subtler web, the vaster foe,
Well may we meet when drilled for deeds:

But in these days of wealth at flow,
A word of breezy warning breeds

The pained responses seen in lakeside reeds.
We fain would stand contemplative,

All innocent as meadow grass;
In human goodness fain believe,

Believe a cloud is formed to pass;
Its shadows chase with draughts of hippocras.

Others have gone; the way they went
Sweet sunny now, and safe our nest.

Humanity, enlightenment,
Against the warning hum protest:

Let the world hear that we know what is best.
So do the beatific speak;

Yet have they ears, and eyes as well;
And if not with a paler cheek,

They feel the shivers in them dwell,
That something of a dubious future tell.

For huge possessions render slack
The power we need to hold them fast;

Save when a quickened heart shall make
Our people one, to meet what blast

May blow from temporal heavens overcast.
Our people one! Nor they with strength

Dependent on a single arm:
Alert, and braced the whole land's length,

Rejoicing in their manhood's charm
For friend or foe; to succour, not to harm.

Has ever weakness won esteem?
Or counts it as a prized ally?

They who have read in History deem
It ranks among the slavish fry,

Whose claim to live justiciary Fates deny.
It can not be declared we are

A nation till from end to end
The land can show such front to war

As bids a crouching foe expend
His ire in air, and preferably be friend.

We dreading him, we do him wrong;
For fears discolour, fears invite.

Like him, our task is to be strong;
Unlike him, claiming not by might

To snatch an envied treasure as a right.
So may a stouter brotherhood

At home be signalled over sea
For righteous, and be understood,

Nay, welcomed, when 'tis shown that we
All duties have embraced in being free.

This Britain slumbering, she is rich;
Lies placid as a cradled child;

At times with an uneasy twitch,
That tells of dreams unduly wild.

Shall she be with a foreign drug defiled?
The grandeur of her deeds recall;

Look on her face so kindly fair:
This Britain! and were she to fall,

Mankind would breathe a harsher air,
The nations miss a light of leading rare.

ON COMO
A rainless darkness drew o'er the lake

As we lay in our boat with oars unshipped.
It seemed neither cloud nor water awake,

And forth of the low black curtain slipped
Thunderless lightning. Scoff no more

At angels imagined in downward flight
For the daughters of earth as fabled of yore:

Here was beauty might well invite
Dark heavens to gleam with the fire of a sun



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