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the sight grows pale; The Old World groans in pain, And turns her eye to see, Beyond the Western Main, The emblem of the Free. Hail to the Stars and Stripes! Hope beams in every ray! And, shining through the bars Of gloom, points out the way: The Old World sees the light That shall her cells illume; And, shrinking back to night, Oppression reads her doom. Hail to the Stars and Stripes! They float in every sea; The crystal waves speed on The emblem of the Free! Beneath the azure sky Of soft Italia's clime, Or where Auroras die In solitude sublime. All hail the flaunting Lie! The Stars grow pale and dim-- The Stripes are bloody scars, A lie the flaunting hymn! It shields the pirate's deck, It binds a man in chains; It yokes the captive's neck, And wipes the bloody stains. Tear down the flaunting Lie! Half-mast the starry flag! Insult no sunny sky With Hate's polluted rag! Destroy it, ye who can! Deep sink it in the waves! It bears a fellow-man To groan with fellow-slaves. Awake the b
e will muster in our might, For our banner must be stainless, and our God will shield the right! Ay, though bloody may be the conquest to which we march along, And though groans may make a dissonance in our grand victor-song, We will rally, we will gather, we will muster in our might, And our banner shall be stainless, for our God will shield the right! Every hour hath prophet's utterance, and each gale from o'er the seas Brings the crash of falling empires, and of tottering dynasties; From Italia's classic ruins, to the ice-realm of the Czar, Sounds the tramp of marshalled cohorts, as they muster to the war; And from despots' shattered altars Freedom's incensecloud is curled, While the people's unchained voices send their Vivas round the world. Then, freemen, shall we falter, as our battle surges on? Shall we tamely yield the birthright by our fathers' valor won? Give up this glorious heritage to Treason's foul misrule, And serve, as willing pupils, in the anarch's villain-school? S
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard), Chapter 3: (search)
ersazione, which occurs twice a week at the house of the Marchioness Lenzoni, the last descendant of one branch of the Medici family. Her house is beautifully fitted up with works of art, and is in all respects redolent of the genius of Italy, and. . . . she receives more intellectual society than anybody in Florence. She is, I suppose, about fifty years old, and, like all well-bred Italian women of her class, entirely without affectation or pretension. I found there Micali, the author of Italia avanti il Dominio dei Romani,—an old man, but very full of life and spirit; Forti, who is distinguishing himself as a political economist; a professor of mathematics, and two or three other agreeable people. . . . I was particularly glad to make the acquaintance of Micali, whose book, which I have valued these twenty years, has, I find, passed through eight or ten editions, notwithstanding its severe and learned character. November 7.—This morning I went to the gallery . . . . . The Tribu
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), Appendix. (search)
en to my soul A talisman of influence pure and strong; Though born a woman, born to have control O'er human hearts for virtue far and long. Thy name shall be remembered when shall die The name of many a warrior of renown, For thou on nobler fields gain'dst victory, And won from history a glorious crown. O for the day when Italy shall know How to be truly free, in virtue strong!— We wonder not that thou didst love her so— Home of the classics, and the land of song! When dawns that day on fair Italia's shore, Thou shalt be well remembered by the free; America and Europe evermore Shall, as the friend of Freedom, think of thee. And happier thought! where souls, from every chain Made free, forever sing redeeming grace, There shall thy loved ones hear thy voice again, And look with deepest joy upon thy face. They who love man love God; and they who toil To break the chains from men and minds below, Win, through the Lamb, a right to heaven's soil, Where boundless progress each glad soul may
entrance-room," they narrate to each other their campestral feats, interspersed by relations of war episodes, military adventures and a hundred other things, which render that familiar intercourse so exquisitely agreeable. Then, the daughter, d' l' impromptu, makes the house resound with the accords of an excellent piano (sole luxurious article of furniture he possesses at Caprera,) and begins playing the allegro, "Daglirid, avanti un passo," followed by that here prohibited, "va fuori d' Italia"--hymns which recall so much grief, and so many national joys. After breakfast, each resumes his occupation again, to meet at the frugal evening dinner, where certainly no one envies the regal repast shared in gilded saloons. At night, after a short walk, the Dictator retires to his own little room, and there, alone with his thoughts, meditates on the future destiny of Italy. Government sent to Maddalena for the Dictator's disposal the National steamer Washington--the same that so greatly
Newspapers suppressed in Italy. --The radical journals in Italy are in a very bad way under the new system of rules of Victor Emanuel. The Unita Italiana, the Mazzinian organ of Milan, has announced that henceforth it will cease to appear. The Diritto, of Turin, and the Popoto d' Italia, of Naples, have been seized by order of the Government — the one for a revolutionary article, the other for publishing the protests of the Emancipation Society of Genoa, now suppressed.