Italy E-book

                                      1860
                                     ITALY

                            by William Cullen Bryant









Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)



                                 ITALY
-
         Voices from the mountains speak,
           Apennines to Alps reply;
         Vale to vale and peak to peak
           Toss an old-remembered cry:
                   "Italy
                   Shall be free!"
         Such the mighty shout that fills
         All the passes of her hills.
-
         All the old Italian lakes
           Quiver at that quickening word;
         Como with a thrill awakes
           Garda to her depths is stirred;
                   Mid the steeps
                   Where he sleeps,
         Dreaming of the elder years,
         Startled Thrasymenus hears.
-
         Sweeping Arno, swelling Po,
           Murmur freedom to their meads.
         Tiber swift and Liris slow
                                                            
           Send strange whispers from their reeds.
                   "Italy
                   Shall be free!"
         Sing the glittering brooks that slide,
         Toward the sea, from Etna's side.
-
         Long ago was Gracchus slain;
           Brutus perished long ago;
         Yet the living roots remain
           Whence the shoots of greatness grow-
                   Yet again,
                   Godlike men,
         Sprung from that heroic stem,
         Call the land to rise with them.
-
         They who haunt the swarming street,
           They who chase the mountain-boar,
         Or, where cliff and billow meet,
           Prune the vine or pull the oar,
                   With a stroke
                                                            
                   Break their yoke;
         Slaves but yestereve were they-
         Freemen with the dawning day.
-
         Looking in his children's eyes,
           While his own with gladness flash,
         "These," the Umbrian father cries,
           "Ne'er shall crouch beneath the lash!
                   These shall ne'er
                   Brook to wear
         Chains whose cruel links are twined
         Round the crushed and withering mind."
-
         Monarchs! ye whose armies stand
           Harnessed for the battle-field!
         Pause, and from the lifted hand
           Drop the bolts of war ye wield.
                   Stand aloof
                   While the proof
         Of the people's might is given;
                                                            
         Leave their kings to them and Heaven!
-
         Stand aloof, and see the oppressed
           Chase the oppressor, pale with fear,
         As the fresh winds of the west
           Blow the misty valleys clear.
                   Stand and see
                   Italy
         Cast the gyves she wears no more
         To the gulfs that steep her shore.
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                        THE END