Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/219

 A mere free press, and chambers!—frank repeaters Of great Guerazzi's praises "There's a man The father of the land!—who, truly great, Takes off that national disgrace and ban, The farthing tax upon our Florence-gate, And saves Italia as he only can." How all the nobles fled, and would not wait, Because they were most noble! which being so, How the mob vowed to burn their palaces, Because they were too free to have leave to go. How grown men raged at Austria's wickedness, And smoked,—while fifty striplings in a row Marched straight to Piedmont for the wrong's redress! Who says we failed in duty, we who wore Black velvet like Italian democrats, Who slashed our sleeves like patriots, nor forswore The true republic in the form of hats? We chased the archbishop from the duomo door— We chalked the walls with bloody caveats Against all tyrants. If we did not fight Exactly, we fired muskets up the void, To show that victory was ours of right. We met, discussed in every place, self-buoyed Except, perhaps, i' the chambers, day and night: We proved that all the poor should be employed, And yet the rich not worked for anywise,— Pay certified, yet payers abrogated, Full work secured, yet liabilities To over-work excluded,—not one bated Of all our holidays, that still, at twice Or thrice a-week, are moderately rated. We proved that Austria was dislodged, or would