Ah, why from their rest and their labor To the hoof-beaten road do they gather? Why turns every one to his neighbor The jubilant tidings to hear? Thou know'st whence he comes, wretched father? And thou long'st for his news, hapless mother? In fight brother fell upon brother! These terrible tidings _I_ bring. All around I hear cries of rejoicing; The temples are decked; the song swelleth From the hearts of the fratricides, voicing Praise and thanks that are hateful to God. Meantime from the Alps where he dwelleth The Stranger turns hither his vision, And numbers with cruel derision The brave that have bitten the sod. Leave your games, leave your songs and exulting; Fill again your battalions and rally Again to your banners! Insulting The stranger descends, he is come! Are ye feeble and few in your sally, Ye victors? For this he descendeth! 'Tis for this that his challenge he sendeth From the fields where your brothers lie dumb! Thou that strait to thy children appearedst, Thou that knew'st not in peace how to tend them, Fatal land! now the stranger thou fearedst Receive, with the judgment he brings! A foe unprovoked to offend them At thy board sitteth down, and derideth, The spoil of thy foolish divideth, Strips the sword from the hand of thy kings. Foolish he, too! What people was ever For bloodshedding blest, or oppression? To the vanquished alone comes harm never; To tears turns the wrong-doer's joy! Though he 'scape through the years' long progression, Yet the vengeance eternal o'ertaketh Him surely; it waiteth and waketh; It seizes him at the last sigh! We are all made in one Likeness holy, Ransomed all by one only redemption; Near or far, rich or poor, high or lowly, Wherever we breathe in life's air, We are brothers, by one great preëmption Bound all; and accursed be its wronger, Who would ruin by right of the stronger, Wring the hearts of the weak with despair. Here is the whole political history of Italy. In this poem the picture of the confronted hosts, the vivid scenes of the combat, the lamentations over the ferocity of the embattled brothers, and the indifference of those that behold their kinsmen's carnage, the strokes by which the victory, the rout, and the captivity are given, and then the apostrophe to Italy, and finally the appeal to conscience--are all masterly effects. I do not know just how to express my sense of near approach through that last stanza to the heart of a very great and good man, but I am certain that I have such a feeling.