The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1878-01-21
POETRY.
The 0bsequies in Rome.
JANUARY II, 1878.

Victor Emanueli-of prophetic name.
VINO, crowned in sore defeat,
Gaught out OF blood, disaster and retreat
With wounded hands, soldiers simple fame
Content, had that been all,
ana most content, VIGOROUSLY to fall
ANA leaves thee VICTOR, in thy pallt
49, "GoD WITH Us" may that people say,
Who walk behind thy conquertng dust, to-day
Yea, all thine Italy
Made one, at last, and proudly free,
Blessed thy sire's baptismal prophecyl
Since over-coarse to be the Empires lord,
Hernlian odoaker fell
Among spilled goblets, by the Gothic sword,
In old Rayenna's palace-citadel;
And, after him, Theodore strove
To own the land he could not choose but love;-
And both from no deficiency of power,
But falling heart and brain
That might revivify the beauty slain,
Builded barbaric thrones for one brief hour
Snce in glorious vision cast
By some narcotic opiate of the past,
Rienzi sought to be
Brutus in deed Caesar In victory
The Italy, that once was Rome,
Dsmenbered, sighed for her deliverance.
Saw her Republics die,
Leaned vainly on the broken reed of France,
Till, when despair seemed nigh,
She saw herself, and, starting from her trance,
Summoned the Victor, who hath led her home!
III.
He knew his people, and his soul was strong
To wait TIL they knew him;
The hand that holds a sceptre dare not shake
From the quick blood that burns at every wrong. n
With Europe watchful cold and grimI
Behind him, and the triple-hooded snake
Cooled in his path, he went
Through changing gusts of doubt and discomfort,
Till all he could have dreamed Of came to himl
But now his people know himi-now,
Since Deaths pure coronet Is on his brow,
Italian eyes are dimi
Now 10 her ancient glories sovereign Rome
Adds one more glory: sorrow falls
ger az the circuit OF the Aurelian walls
Even from Montorio on Saint Peters dome;
And where warm Pamfli- Dorian unoada
Fresh dew the daisy feeds;
And breathes in every tall Borghese pine,
And means on Aventine;
And-could the voice of all desire awake
That once was loud for Italys dear sake
hymn would burst from each dumb burial-stone
Where Keats's, Sheiley's dust is hid,
In dithyrambic triumph DER his owni
".
Who walk behind his bier2
Bsho oI the solemn phantomsi-who are they
Breathing of many fiery year
And clad in drapery of darker time?
These are the dead who saw,
Too soon, the worlds diviner law
Too early dreamed their peoples dream sublimei
He followed them, who lived to make that dream
principle supreme,
Deme-browed Mazzini,-he, who planted sure
Its cornerstone, Cavouri
Then, first among the living, that gray chief
10 conquer which he rent and shattered down
His rich Sicilian crown,
All, bend thee, Garibald!-be not 10th
To trust the son of him thou gay'st a land
Or kiss the stainless hand
OF her whose name is pearl and daisy bothl
Such love, to-day, thy people give
To him who died, such trust to them who lived.
V.
Cunning nor Force shall overthrow
The State whose fabric has been builded SO,
Under the Pantheon's dome,
The nndying Victor still shall reign
Der one free land that dare not feel a shain,--
Whose mighty heart is Rome!
Still, from the ramparts of the Rhatian snow,
0& Far down the realms Of corn and wine,
Back-boned by Apennine,
To capes that breast the warm CaIabrian Sea,
single race shall know
One love, one right, one loyalty:
Still from his ashes Italy shall grow
Who made her Italy!
-Bayard Taylor in Neso York Tribune.