Classic Poem

When Victor Emmanuel, the king,
Went down to his Lucca that day,
The people, each vaunting the thing
As he gave it, gave all things away
In a burst of fierce gratitude, say —
As they tore out their hearts for the king:

Gave the green forest-walk on the wall,
With the Appenine blue through the trees
Gave palaces, churches, and all
The great pictures which burn out of these.
But the eyes of the king seemed to freeze,
As he glanced upon ceiling and wall.

" Good! " said the king as he past,
Was he cold to the arts? — or else coy
To possession? — or crossed at the last,
Whispered some, by the vote in Savoy?
Shout! — Love him enough for his joy!
" Good! " said the king as he past.

He, travelling the whole day through flowers
And protesting amenities, found
At Pistoia, betwixt the two showers
Of red roses, " the Orphans " (renowned
As the heirs of Puccini), who wound
With a sword through the crowd and the flowers.

" 'T is the sword of Castruccio, O king!
In old strife of intestinal hate
Very famous. Accept what we bring —
We, who cannot be sons by our fate,
Rendered citizens by thee of late,
And endowed with a country and king.

" Read: — Puccini has willed that this sword
(Which once made, in an ignorant feud,
Many orphans) remain in our ward
Till some patriot its pure civic blood.
Wipe away in the foe's and make good,
In delivering the land by the sword, "

Then the king exclaimed, " This is for me! "
And he dashed out his sword on the hilt,
While his blue eye shot fire openly,
And his heart overboiled till it spilt
A hot prayer: " God! the rest as Thou wilt!
But grant me this — this is for me! "

O Victor Emmanuel the king!
The sword be for thee, and the deed!
And nought for the alien, next Spring,
Nought for Hapsburg and Bourbon agreed;
But for us, a great Italy freed,
With a hero to head us — our King!