Take up the child, Macmahon, though Thy hand be red From Magenta's dead, And riding on, in front of the troop, In the dust of the whirlwind of war Through the gate of the city of Milan, stoop And take up the child to thy saddle-bow, Nor fear the touch as soft as a flower of his smile as clear as a star! Thou hast a right to the child, we say, Since the women are weeping for joy as they Who, by thy help and from this day, Shall be happy mothers indeed. They are raining flowers from terrace and roof: Take up the flower in the child. While the shout goes up of a nation freed And heroically self-reconciled, Till the snow on that peaked Alp aloof Starts, as feeling God's finger anew, And all those cold white marble fires Of mounting saints on the Duomo-spires Flicker against the Blue. "Emperor Evermore." XII. Ay, it is He, Who rides at the King's right hand! Leave room to his horse and draw to the side, Nor press too near in the ecstasy Of a newly delivered impassioned land: He is moved, you see, He who has done it all. They call it a cold stern face; But this is Italy Who rises up to her place!-- For this he fought in his youth, Of this he dreamed in the past; The lines of the resolute mouth Tremble a little at last. Cry, he has done it all! "Emperor Evermore." XIII. It is not strange that he did it, Though the deed may seem to strain To the wonderful, unpermitted, For such as lead and reign. But he is strange, this man: The people's instinct found him (A wind in the dark that ran Through a chink where was no door), And elected him and crowned him Emperor Evermore. XIV. Autocrat? let them scoff, Who fail to comprehend That a ruler incarnate of The people must transcend All common king-born kings; These subterranean springs A sudden outlet winning Have special virtues to spend. The people's blood runs through him, Dilates from head to foot, Creates him absolute, And from this great beginning Evokes a greater end To justify and renew him-- Emperor Evermore. XV. What! did any maintain That God or the people (think!) Could make a marvel in vain?-- Out of the water-jar there, Draw wine that none could drink? Is this a man like the rest, This miracle, made unaware By a rapture of popular air, And caught to the place that was best? You think he could barter and cheat As vulgar diplomates use, With the people's heart in his breast? Prate a lie into shape Lest truth should cumber the road; Play at the fast and loose Till the world is strangled with tape; Maim the soul's complete To fit the hole of a toad; And filch the dogman's meat To feed the offspring of God? XVI.