Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/220

 Or should be, and that Tuscany in arms Should, would, dislodge her, in high hardihood! And yet, to leave our piazzas, shops, and farms, For the bare sake of fighting, was not good. We proved that also—"Did we carry charms Against being killed ourselves, that we should rush On killing others? What! desert herewith Our wives and mothers!—was that duty? Tush!" At which we shook the sword within the sheath, Like heroes—only louder! and the flush Ran up our cheek to meet the victor's wreath. Nay; what we proved, we shouted—how we shouted, (Especially the little boys did) planting That tree of liberty whose fruit is doubted Because the roots are not of nature's granting— A tree of good and evil!—none, without it, Grow gods!-alas, and, with it, men were wanting.

O holy knowledge, holy liberty, O holy rights of nations! If I speak These bitter things against the jugglery Of days that in your names proved blind and weak, It is that tears are bitter. When we see The brown skulls grin at death in churchyards bleak, We do not cry, "This Yorick is too light,"— For death grows deathlier with that mouth he makes. So with my mocking. Bitter things I write, Because my soul is bitter for your sakes, O freedom! O my Florence!