Page:Songs of two nations (IA songsoftwonation00swin).pdf/33

 From the island of her lover and thy lord, Her saviour and her sword. In the fierce year of failure and of fame, Art thou not yet the same That wast as lightning swifter than all wings In the blind face of kings? When priests took counsel to devise despair, And princes to forswear, She clasped thee, O her sword and flag-bearer And staff and shield to her, O Garibaldi; need was hers and grief, Of thee and of the chief, And of another girt in arms to stand As good of hope and hand, As high of soul and happy, albeit indeed The heart should burn and bleed, So but the spirit shake not nor the breast Swerve, but abide its rest. As theirs did and as thine, though ruin clomb The highest wall of Rome, Though treason stained and spilt her lustral water, And slaves led slaves to slaughter, And priests, praying and slaying, watched them pass From a strange France, alas, That was not freedom; yet when these were past Thy sword and thou stood fast, Till new men seeing thee where Sicilian waves Hear now no sound of slaves, And where thy sacred blood is fragrant still Upon the Bitter Hill,