Songs Before Sunrise Part 5

Banners of kings shall ye follow None, and have thrones on your side None; ye shall gather and grow Silently, row upon row, Chosen of Freedom to go Gladly where darkness may swallow, Gladly where death may divide.

Have we not men with us royal, Men the masters of things?

In the days when our life is made new, All souls perfect and true Shall adore whom their forefathers slew; And these indeed shall be loyal, And those indeed shall be kings.

Yet for a s.p.a.ce they abide with us, Yet for a little they stand, Bearing the heat of the day.

When their presence is taken away, We shall wonder and worship, and say, "Was not a star on our side with us?

Was not a G.o.d at our hand?"

These, O men, shall ye honour, Liberty only, and these.

For thy sake and for all men's and mine, Brother, the crowns of them shine Lighting the way to her shrine, That our eyes may be fastened upon her, That our hands may encompa.s.s her knees.

In this day is the sign of her shown to you; Choose ye, to live or to die, Now is her harvest in hand; Now is her light in the land; Choose ye, to sink or to stand, For the might of her strength is made known to you Now, and her arm is on high.

Serve not for any man's wages, Pleasure nor glory nor gold; Not by her side are they won Who saith unto each of you, "Son, Silver and gold have I none; I give but the love of all ages, And the life of my people of old."

Fear not for any man's terrors; Wait not for any man's word; Patiently, each in his place, Gird up your loins to the race; Following the print of her pace, Purged of desires and of errors, March to the tune ye have heard.

March to the tune of the voice of her, Breathing the balm of her breath, Loving the light of her skies.

Blessed is he on whose eyes Dawns but her light as he dies; Blessed are ye that make choice of her, Equal to life and to death.

Ye that when faith is nigh frozen, Ye that when hope is nigh gone, Still, over wastes, over waves, Still, among wrecks, among graves, Follow the splendour that saves, Happy, her children, her chosen, Loyally led of her on.

The sheep of the priests, and the cattle That feed in the penfolds of kings, Sleek is their flock and well-fed; Hardly she giveth you bread, Hardly a rest for the head, Till the day of the blast of the battle And the storm of the wind of her wings.

Ye that have joy in your living, Ye that are careful to live, You her thunders go by: Live, let men be, let them lie, Serve your season, and die; Gifts have your masters for giving, Gifts hath not Freedom to give;

She, without shelter or station, She, beyond limit or bar, Urges to slumberless speed Armies that famish, that bleed, Sowing their lives for her seed, That their dust may rebuild her a nation, That their souls may relight her a star.

Happy are all they that follow her; Them shall no trouble cast down; Though she slay them, yet shall they trust in her, For unsure there is nought nor unjust in her, Blemish is none, neither rust in her; Though it threaten, the night shall not swallow her, Tempest and storm shall not drown.

Hither, O strangers, that cry for her, Holding your lives in your hands, Hither, for here is your light, Where Italy is, and her might; Strength shall be given you to fight, Grace shall be given you to die for her, For the flower, for the lady of lands;

Turn ye, whose anguish oppressing you Crushes, asleep and awake, For the wrong which is wrought as of yore; That Italia may give of her store, Having these things to give and no more; Only her hands on you, blessing you; Only a pang for her sake;

Only her bosom to die on; Only her heart for a home, And a name with her children to be From Calabrian to Adrian sea Famous in cities made free That ring to the roar of the lion Proclaiming republican Rome.

MENTANA: FIRST ANNIVERSARY

At the time when the stars are grey, And the gold of the molten moon Fades, and the twilight is thinned, And the sun leaps up, and the wind, A light rose, not of the day, A stronger light than of noon.

As the light of a face much loved Was the face of the light that clomb; As a mother's whitened with woes Her adorable head that arose; As the sound of a G.o.d that is moved, Her voice went forth upon Rome.

At her lips it fluttered and failed Twice, and sobbed into song, And sank as a flame sinks under; Then spake, and the speech was thunder, And the cheek as he heard it paled Of the wrongdoer grown grey with the wrong.

"Is it time, is it time appointed, Angel of time, is it near?

For the spent night aches into day When the kings shall slay not or pray, And the high-priest, accursed and anointed, Sickens to deathward with fear.

"For the bones of my slain are stirred, And the seed of my earth in her womb Moves as the heart of a bud Beating with odorous blood To the tune of the loud first bird Burns and yearns into bloom.

"I lay my hand on her bosom, My hand on the heart of my earth, And I feel as with shiver and sob The triumphant heart in her throb, The dead petals dilate into blossom, The divine blood beat into birth.

"O my earth, are the springs in thee dry?

O sweet, is thy body a tomb?

Nay, springs out of springs derive, And summers from summers alive, And the living from them that die; No tomb is here, but a womb.

"O manifold womb and divine, Give me fruit of my children, give!

I have given thee my dew for thy root, Give thou me for my mouth of thy fruit; Thine are the dead that are mine, And mine are thy sons that live.

"O goodly children, O strong Italian spirits, that wear My glories as garments about you, Could time or the world mis...o...b.. you, Behold, in disproof of the wrong, The field of the grave-pits there.

"And ye that fell upon sleep, We have you too with us yet.

Fairer than life or than youth Is this, to die for the truth: No death can sink you so deep As their graves whom their brethren forget.

"Were not your pains as my pains?

As my name are your names not divine?

Was not the light in your eyes Mine, the light of my skies, And the sweet shed blood of your veins, O my beautiful martyrs, mine?

"Of mine earth were your dear limbs made, Of mine air was your sweet life's breath; At the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of my love ye were fed, O my children, my chosen, my dead, At my b.r.e.a.s.t.s where again ye are laid, At the old mother's bosom, in death.

"But ye that live, O their brothers, Be ye to me as they were; Give me, my children that live, What these dead grudged not to give, Who alive were sons of your mother's, Whose lips drew breath of your air.

"Till darkness by dawn be cloven, Let youth's self mourn and abstain; And love's self find not an hour, And spring's self wear not a flower, And Lycoris, with hair unenwoven, Hail back to the banquet in vain.

"So sooner and surer the glory That is not with us shall be, And stronger the hands that smite The heads of the sons of night, And the sound throughout earth of our story Give all men heart to be free."

BLESSED AMONG WOMEN--TO THE SIGNORA CAIROLI

1

Blessed was she that bare, Hidden in flesh most fair, For all men's sake the likeness of all love; Holy that virgin's womb, The old record saith, on whom The glory of G.o.d alighted as a dove; Blessed, who brought to gracious birth The sweet-souled Saviour of a man-tormented earth.

2

But four times art thou blest, At whose most holy breast Four times a G.o.dlike soldier-saviour hung; And thence a fourfold Christ Given to be sacrificed To the same cross as the same bosom clung; Poured the same blood, to leave the same Light on the many-folded mountain-skirts of fame.

3

Shall they and thou not live, The children thou didst give Forth of thine hands, a G.o.dlike gift, to death, Through fire of death to pa.s.s For her high sake that was Thine and their mother, that gave all you breath?

Shall ye not live till time drop dead, O mother, and each her children's consecrated head?