III. Hast thou forgotten those days illumined with glory and honour, When the far isles of the sea thrilled to the tread of Castile? When every land under Heaven was flecked by the shade of thy banner,-- When every beam of the sun flashed on thy conquering steel? IV. Then through red fields of slaughter, through death and defeat and disaster, Still flared thy banner aloft, tattered, but free from a stain,-- Now to the upstart Savoyard thou bendest to beg for a master! How the red flush of her shame mars the proud beauty of Spain! V. Has the red blood run cold that boiled by the Xenil and Darro? Are the high deeds of the sires sung to the children no more? On the dun hills of the North hast thou heard of no plough-boy Pizarro? Roams no young swine-herd Cortes hid by the Tagus' wild shore? VI. Once again does Hispania bend low to the yoke of the stranger! Once again will she rise, flinging her gyves in the sea! Princeling of Piedmont! unwitting thou weddest with doubt and with danger, King over men who have learned all that it costs to be free. THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS. Not done, but near its ending, Is the work that our eyes desired; Not yet fulfilled, but near the goal, Is the hope that our worn hearts fired. And on the Alban Mountains, Where the blushes of dawn increase, We see the flash of the beautiful feet Of Freedom and of Peace! How long were our fond dreams baffled!-- Novara's sad mischance, The Kaiser's sword and fetter-lock, And the traitor stab of France; Till at last came glorious Venice, In storm and tempest home; And now God maddens the greedy kings, And gives to her people Rome. Lame Lion of Caprera! Red-shirts of the lost campaigns! Not idly shed was the costly blood You poured from generous veins. For the shame of Aspromonte, And the stain of Mentana's sod, But forged the curse of kings that sprang From your breaking hearts to God! We lift our souls to Thee, O Lord Of Liberty and of Light! Let not earth's kings pollute the work That was done in their despite; Let not Thy light be darkened In the shade of a sordid crown, Nor pampered swine devour the fruit Thou shook'st with an earthquake down! Let the People come to their birthright, And crosier and crown pass away Like phantasms that flit o'er the marshes At the glance of the clean, white day. And then from the lava of AEtna To the ice of the Alps let there be One freedom, one faith without fetters, One republic in Italy free! THE CURSE OF HUNGARY. King Saloman looked from his donjon bars, Where the Danube clamours through sedge and sand, And he cursed with a curse his revolting land,-- With a king's deep curse of treason and wars.