Here, take these gaudy robes and put them by; I will go dress me black as widowhood; I have seen blood run, I have heard the cry Of him that struck and him that vainly sued. Henceforth no other ornament will I But on my breast a ribbon red as blood. And when they ask what dyed the silk so red, I'll say, The life-blood of my brothers dead. And when they ask how it may cleanséd be, I'll say, O, not in river nor in sea; Dishonor passes not in wave nor flood; My ribbon ye must wash in German blood. The repressed horror in the lines, I have seen blood run, I have heard the cry Of him that struck and him that vainly sued, is the sentiment of a picture that presents the scene to the reader's eye as this shuddering woman saw it; and the heart of woman's fierceness and hate is in that fragment of drama with which the brief poem closes. It is the history of an epoch. That epoch is now past, however; so long and so irrevocably past, that Dall' Ongaro commented in a note upon the poem: “The word 'German' is left as a key to the opinions of the time. Human brotherhood has been greatly promoted since 1848. German is now no longer synonymous with enemy. Italy has made peace with the peoples, and is leagued with them all against their common oppressors.” There is still another of these songs, in which the heart of womanhood speaks, though this time with a voice of pride and happiness. THE DECORATION. My love looks well under his helmet's crest; He went to war, and did not let them see His back, and so his wound is in the breast: For one he got, he struck and gave them three. When he came back, I loved him, hurt so, best; He married me and loves me tenderly. When he goes by, and people give him way, I thank God for my fortune every day; When he goes by he seems more grand and fair Than any crossed and ribboned cavalier: The cavalier grew up with his cross on, And I know how my darling's cross was won! This poem, like that of La Livornese and La Donna Lombarda, is a vivid picture: it is a liberated city, and the streets are filled with jubilant people; the first victorious combats have taken place, and it is a wounded hero who passes with his ribbon on his breast. As the fond crowd gives way to him, his young wife looks on him from her window with an exultant love, unshadowed by any possibility of harm: Mi menò a moglie e mi vuol tanto bene! This is country and freedom to her,--this is strength which despots cannot break,--this is joy to which defeat and ruin can never come nigh! It might be any one of the sarcastic and quickwitted people talking politics in the streets of Rome in 1847, who sees the newly elected Senator--the head of the Roman municipality, and the legitimate mediator between Pope and people--as he passes, and speaks to him in these lines the dominant feeling of the moment: THE CARDINALS.