Part 1 (1/2)

Songs Of Two Nations.

by Algernon Charles Swinburne.

DIRAE

I saw the double-featured statue stand Of Memnon or of Ja.n.u.s, half with night Veiled, and fast bound with iron; half with light Crowned, holding all men's future in his hand.

And all the old westward face of time grown grey Was writ with cursing and inscribed for death; But on the face that met the mornings breath Fear died of hope as darkness dies of day.

A SONG OF ITALY

Inscribed

With All Devotion and Reverence

To:

JOSEPH MAZZINI

1867

Upon a windy night of stars that fell At the wind's spoken spell, Swept with sharp strokes of agonizing light From the clear gulf of night, Between the fixed and fallen glories one Against my vision shone, More fair and fearful and divine than they That measure night and day, And worthier wors.h.i.+p; and within mine eyes The formless folded skies Took shape and were unfolded like as flowers.

And I beheld the hours As maidens, and the days as labouring men, And the soft nights again As wearied women to their own souls wed, And ages as the dead.

And over these living, and them that died, From one to the other side A lordlier light than comes of earth or air Made the world's future fair.

A woman like to love in face, but not A thing of transient lot-- And like to hope, but having hold on truth-- And like to joy or youth, Save that upon the rock her feet were set-- And like what men forget, Faith, innocence, high thought, laborious peace-- And yet like none of these, Being not as these are mortal, but with eyes That sounded the deep skies And clove like wings or arrows their clear way Through night and dawn and day-- So fair a presence over star and sun Stood, making these as one.

For in the shadow of her shape were all Darkened and held in thrall, So mightier rose she past them; and I felt Whose form, whose likeness knelt With covered hair and face and clasped her knees; And knew the first of these Was Freedom, and the second Italy.

And what sad words said she For mine own grief I knew not, nor had heart Therewith to bear my part And set my songs to sorrow; nor to hear How tear by sacred tear Fell from her eyes as flowers or notes that fall In some slain feaster's hall Where in mid music and melodious breath Men singing have seen death.

So fair, so lost, so sweet she knelt; or so In our lost eyes below Seemed to us sorrowing; and her speech being said, Fell, as one who falls dead.

And for a little she too wept, who stood Above the dust and blood And thrones and troubles of the world; then spake, As who bids dead men wake.

”Because the years were heavy on thy head; Because dead things are dead; Because thy chosen on hill-side, city and plain Are shed as drops of rain; Because all earth was black, all heaven was blind, And we cast out of mind; Because men wept, saying _Freedom_, knowing of thee, Child, that thou wast not free; Because wherever blood was not shame was Where thy pure foot did pa.s.s; Because on Promethean rocks distent Thee fouler eagles rent; Because a serpent stains with slime and foam This that is not thy Rome; Child of my womb, whose limbs were made in me, Have I forgotten thee?

In all thy dreams through all these years on wing, Hast thou dreamed such a thing?

The mortal mother-bird outsoars her nest, The child outgrows the breast; But suns as stars shall fall from heaven and cease, Ere we twain be as these; Yea, utmost skies forget their utmost sun, Ere we twain be not one.

My lesser jewels sewn on skirt and hem, I have no heed of them Obscured and flawed by sloth or craft or power; But thou, that wast my flower, The blossom bound between my brows and worn In sight of even and morn From the last ember of the flameless west To the dawn's baring breast-- I were not Freedom if thou wert not free, Nor thou wert Italy.

O mystic rose ingrained with blood, impearled With tears of all the world!

The torpor of their blind brute-ridden trance Kills England and chills France; And Spain sobs hard through strangling blood; and snows Hide the huge eastern woes.

But thou, twin-born with morning, nursed of noon, And blessed of star and moon!

What shall avail to a.s.sail thee any more, From sacred sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e?

Have Time and Love not knelt down at thy feet, Thy sore, thy soiled, thy sweet, Fresh from the flints and mire of murderous ways And dust of travelling days?

Hath Time not kissed them, Love not washed them fair, And wiped with tears and hair?

Though G.o.d forget thee, I will not forget; Though heaven and earth be set Against thee, O unconquerable child, Abused, abased, reviled, Lift thou not less from no funereal bed Thine undishonoured head; Love thou not less, by lips of thine once prest, This my now barren breast; Seek thou not less, being well a.s.sured thereof, O child, my latest love.

For now the barren bosom shall bear fruit, Songs leap from lips long mute, And with my milk the mouths of nations fed Again be glad and red That were worn white with hunger and sorrow and thirst; And thou, most fair and first, Thou whose warm hands and sweet live lips I feel Upon me for a seal, Thou whose least looks, whose smiles and little sighs, Whose pa.s.sionate pure eyes, Whose dear fair limbs that neither bonds could bruise Nor hate of men misuse, Whose flower-like breath and bosom, O my child, O mine and undefiled, Fill with such tears as burn like bitter wine These mother's eyes of mine, Thrill with huge pa.s.sions and primeval pains The fullness of my veins, O sweetest head seen higher than any stands, I touch thee with mine hands, I lay my lips upon thee, O thou most sweet, To lift thee on thy feet And with the fire of mine to fill thine eyes; I say unto thee, Arise.”

-- She ceased, and heaven was full of flame and sound, And earth's old limbs unbound Shone and waxed warm with fiery dew and seed Shed through her at this her need: And highest in heaven, a mother and full of grace, With no more covered face, With no more lifted hands and bended knees, Rose, as from sacred seas Love, when old time was full of plenteous springs, That fairest-born of things, The land that holds the rest in tender thrall For love's sake in them all, That binds with words and holds with eyes and hands All hearts in all men's lands.

So died the dream whence rose the live desire That here takes form and fire, A spirit from the splendid grave of sleep Risen, that ye should not weep, Should not weep more nor ever, O ye that hear And ever have held her dear, Seeing now indeed she weeps not who wept sore, And sleeps not any more.

Hearken ye towards her, O people, exalt your eyes; Is this a thing that dies?

-- Italia! by the pa.s.sion of the pain That bent and rent thy chain; Italia! by the breaking of the bands, The shaking of the lands; Beloved, O men's mother, O men's queen, Arise, appear, be seen!

Arise, array thyself in manifold Queen's raiment of wrought gold; With girdles of green freedom, and with red Roses, and white snow shed Above the flush and frondage of the hills That all thy deep dawn fills And all thy clear night veils and warms with wings Spread till the morning sings; The rose of resurrection, and the bright Breast lavish of the light, The lady lily like the snowy sky Ere the stars wholly die; As red as blood, and whiter than a wave, Flowers grown as from thy grave, From the green fruitful gra.s.s in Maytime hot, Thy grave, where thou art not.

Gather the gra.s.s and weave, in sacred sign Of the ancient earth divine, The holy heart of things, the seed of birth, The mystical warm earth.

O thou her flower of flowers, with treble braid Be thy sweet head arrayed, In witness of her mighty motherhood Who bore thee and found thee good, Her fairest-born of children, on whose head Her green and white and red Are hope and light and life, inviolate Of any latter fate.

Fly, O our flag, through deep Italian air, Above the flags that were, The dusty shreds of shameful battle-flags Trampled and rent in rags, As withering woods in autumn's bitterest breath Yellow, and black as death; Black as crushed worms that sicken in the sense, And yellow as pestilence.

Fly, green as summer and red as dawn and white As the live heart of light, The blind bright womb of colour unborn, that brings Forth all fair forms of things, As freedom all fair forms of nations dyed In divers-coloured pride.