A Midsummer Holiday and Other Poems | Page 9

hearts
acclaim,
One heart benign, one soul supreme, one conquering name.
NOTES
ST. V.
V. 3. La Légende des Siècles: Le Sacre de la Femme.
4. La Conscience.
7. Booz endormi.
8. Première rencontre du Christ
avec le tombeau.
9. La Terre: Hymne.
VI. 3. Les Temps Paniques.
9. La Ville Disparue.
VII. Les Trois Cents.
VIII. 1. Le Détroit de
l'Euripe: La Chanson de Sophocle à Salamine.
7. Le Romancero du Cid.
IX. 3. Le Petit Roi de Galice.
5. Le Jour des Rois.
9. Montfaucon.
X. La vision d'où est sorti ce
livre.
XI. 9. L'an neuf de l'Hégire.
12. Les sept merveilles du monde.
XII. 1. Les quatre jours d'Elciis.
4. Le Régiment du baron Madruce.
7. La Chanson des Aventuriers de
la Mer.
9. Les Reîtres.
12. La Rose de l'Infante.
XIII. 1. Le Satyre.
12. Les paysans au bord de la mer.
XIV. 1. Les pauvres gens.
5. Petit Paul.
7. Guerre Civile.
9. La Vision de Dante.
15. La
Trompette du Jugement.
XV. Torquemada (1882).
XVI. La

Légende des Siècles: tome cinquième et dernier (1883). XVII.
November 25, 1883.
_LINES ON THE MONUMENT OF GIUSEPPE MAZZINI._
Italia, mother of the souls of men,
Mother divine,
Of all that served thee best with sword or pen,
All sons of thine,
Thou knowest that here the likeness of the best
Before thee stands,
The head most high, the heart found faithfullest,
The purest hands.
Above the fume and foam of time that flits,
The soul, we know,
Now sits on high where Alighieri sits
With Angelo.
Not his own heavenly tongue hath heavenly speech
Enough to say
What this man was, whose praise no thought may
reach,
No words can weigh.
Since man's first mother brought to mortal birth
Her first-born son,
Such grace befell not ever man on earth
As crowns this one.
Of God nor man was ever this thing said,
That he could give
Life back to her who gave him, whence his dead

Mother might live.
But this man found his mother dead and slain,
With fast sealed eyes,
And bade the dead rise up and live again,
And she did rise.
And all the world was bright with her through him:
But dark with strife,
Like heaven's own sun that storming clouds
bedim,
Was all his life.
Life and the clouds are vanished: hate and fear
Have had their span
Of time to hunt, and are not: he is here,
The sunlike man.
City superb that hadst Columbus first
For sovereign son,
Be prouder that thy breast hath later nurst
This mightier one.
Glory be his for ever, while his land
Lives and is free,
As with controlling breath and sovereign hand
He bade her be.
Earth shows to heaven the names by thousands told
That crown her fame,
But highest of all that heaven and earth behold
Mazzini's name.

_LES CASQUETS._
From the depths of the waters that lighten and darken
With change
everlasting of life and of death,
Where hardly by noon if the lulled ear
hearken
It hears the sea's as a tired child's breath,
Where hardly by
night if an eye dare scan it
The storm lets shipwreck be seen or heard,

As the reefs to the waves and the foam to the granite
Respond one merciless word,
Sheer seen and far, in the sea's live heaven,
A seamew's flight from
the wild sweet land,
White-plumed with foam if the wind wake,
seven
Black helms as of warriors that stir not stand.
From the
depths that abide and the waves that environ
Seven rocks rear heads
that the midnight masks,
And the strokes of the swords of the storm
are as iron
On the steel of the wave-worn casques.
Be night's dark word as the word of a wizard,
Be the word of dawn as
a god's glad word,
Like heads of the spirits of darkness visored
That
see not for ever, nor ever have heard,
These basnets, plumed as for
fight or plumeless,
Crowned of the storm and by storm discrowned,

Keep ward of the lists where the dead lie tombless
And the tale of them is not found.
Nor eye may number nor hand may reckon
The tithes that are taken
of life by the dark,
Or the ways of the path, if doom's hand beckon,

For the soul to fare as a helmless bark--
Fare forth on a way that no
sign showeth,
Nor aught of its goal or of aught between,
A path for
her flight which no fowl knoweth,
Which the vulture's eye hath not seen.
Here still, though the wave and the wind seem lovers
Lulled half

asleep by their own soft words,
A dream as of death in the sun's light
hovers,
And a sign in the motions and cries of the birds.
Dark
auguries and keen from the sweet sea-swallows
Strike noon with a
sense as of midnight's breath,
And the wing that flees and the wing
that follows
Are as types of the wings of death.
For here, when the night roars round, and under
The white sea
lightens and leaps like fire,
Acclaimed of storm and applauded in
thunder,
Sits death on the throne of his crowned desire.
Yea, hardly