I would but turn these lachrymals to use, And pour fresh oil in from the olive-grove, To furnish them as new lamps. Shall I say What made my heart beat with exulting love A few weeks back?-- The day was such a day As Florence owes the sun. The sky above, Its weight upon the mountains seemed to lay, And palpitate in glory, like a dove Who has flown too fast, full-hearted--take away The image! for the heart of man beat higher That day in Florence, flooding all her streets And piazzas with a tumult and desire. The people, with accumulated heats And faces turned one way, as if one fire Both drew and flushed them, left their ancient beats And went up toward the palace-Pitti wall To thank their Grand-duke who, not quite of course, Had graciously permitted, at their call, The citizens to use their civic force To guard their civic homes. So, one and all, The Tuscan cities streamed up to the source Of this new good at Florence, taking it As good so far, presageful of more good,-- The first torch of Italian freedom, lit To toss in the next tiger's face who should Approach too near them in a greedy fit,-- The first pulse of an even flow of blood To prove the level of Italian veins Towards rights perceived and granted. How we gazed From Casa Guidi windows while, in trains Of orderly procession--banners raised, And intermittent bursts of martial strains Which died upon the shout, as if amazed By gladness beyond music--they passed on! The Magistracy, with insignia, passed,-- And all the people shouted in the sun, And all the thousand windows which had cast A ripple of silks in blue and scarlet down (As if the houses overflowed at last), Seemed growing larger with fair heads and eyes. The Lawyers passed,--and still arose the shout, And hands broke from the windows to surprise Those grave calm brows with bay-tree leaves thrown out. The Priesthood passed,--the friars with worldly-wise Keen sidelong glances from their beards about The street to see who shouted; many a monk Who takes a long rope in the waist, was there: Whereat the popular exultation drunk With indrawn "vivas" the whole sunny air, While through the murmuring windows rose and sunk A cloud of kerchiefed hands,--"The church makes fair Her welcome in the new Pope's name." Ensued The black sign of the "Martyrs"--(name no name, But count the graves in silence). Next were viewed The Artists; next, the Trades; and after came The People,--flag and sign, and rights as good-- And very loud the shout was for that same Motto, "Il popolo." IL POPOLO,-- The word means dukedom, empire, majesty, And kings in such an hour might read it so. And next, with banners, each in his degree, Deputed representatives a-row Of every separate state of Tuscany: Siena's she-wolf, bristling on the fold