Page:Carducci - Poems of Italy.djvu/31

 On the Death of the Prince Imperial

NE, the barbarian javelin laid low, Unwitting; in the eyes that glowed with life Extinguishing the smiles they seemed to catch From phantoms floating in the azure vast.

The other, vainly drugged with kisses 'neath His Austrian plumes, and in the frozen dawns Dreaming réveillés and the warlike roll Of drums,—bent, like a pallid hyacinth.

Far from their mothers, both; the silken curls With childhood's brightness on them, seem to wait The furrow that is left by the caress Of the maternal hand. But now instead

They are cast into darkness, these young souls, With none to comfort; neither follows them Their country's tribute, sounding at the grave The notes of love and the high strain of glory.