The Prayer Of The Romans.

Not done, but near its ending,         Is the work that our eyes desired;     Not yet fulfilled, but near the goal,         Is the hope that our worn hearts fired.     And on the Alban Mountains,         Where the blushes of dawn increase,     We see the flash of the beautiful feet         Of Freedom and of Peace!     How long were our fond dreams baffled! -         Novara's sad mischance,     The Kaiser's sword and fetter-lock,         And the traitor stab of France;     Till at last came glorious Venice,         In storm and tempest home;     And now God maddens the greedy kings,         And gives to her people Rome.     Lame Lion of Caprera!         Red-shirts of the lost campaigns!     Not idly shed was the costly blood         You poured from generous veins.     For the shame of Aspromonte,         And the stain of Mentana's sod,     But forged the curse of kings that sprang         From your breaking hearts to God!     We lift our souls to Thee, O Lord         Of Liberty and of Light!     Let not earth's kings pollute the work         That was done in their despite;     Let not Thy light be darkened         In the shade of a sordid crown,     Nor pampered swine devour the fruit         Thou shook'st with an earthquake down!     Let the People come to their birthright,         And crosier and crown pass away     Like phantasms that flit o'er the marshes         At the glance of the clean, white day.     And then from the lava of AEtna         To the ice of the Alps let there be     One freedom, one faith without fetters,         One republic in Italy free!