The Poems of Giacomo Leopardi | Page 5

up Anthela's hill, where, e'en in death?The sacred Band immortal life obtained,?Simonides slow-climbing, thoughtfully,?Looked forth on sea and shore and sky.?And then, his cheeks with tears bedewed,?And heaving breast, and trembling foot, he stood,?His lyre in hand and sang:?"O ye, forever blessed,?Who bared your breasts unto the foeman's lance,?For love of her, who gave you birth;?By Greece revered, and by the world admired,?What ardent love your youthful minds inspired,?To rush to arms, such perils dire to meet,?A fate so hard, with loving smiles to greet??Her children, why so joyously,?Ran ye, that stern and rugged pass to guard??As if unto a dance,?Or to some splendid feast,?Each one appeared to haste,?And not grim death Death to brave;?But Tartarus awaited ye,?And the cold Stygian wave;?Nor were your wives or children at your side,?When, on that rugged shore,?Without a kiss, without a tear, ye died.?But not without a fearful blow?To Persians dealt, and their undying shame.?As at a herd of bulls a lion glares,?Then, plunging in, upon the back?Of this one leaps, and with his claws?A passage all along his chine he tears,?And fiercely drives his teeth into his sides,?Such havoc Grecian wrath and valor made?Amongst the Persian ranks, dismayed.?Behold each prostrate rider and his steed;?Behold the chariots, and the fallen tents,?A tangled mass their flight impede;?And see, among the first to fly,?The tyrant, pale, and in disorder wild!?See, how the Grecian youths,?With blood barbaric dyed,?And dealing death on every side,?By slow degrees by their own wounds subdued,?The one upon the other fall. Farewell,?Ye heroes blessed, whose names shall live,?While tongue can speak, or pen your story tell!?Sooner the stars, torn from their spheres, shall hiss,?Extinguished in the bottom of the sea,?Than the dear memory, and love of you,?Shall suffer loss, or injury.?Your tomb an altar is; the mothers here?Shall come, unto their little ones to show?The lovely traces of your blood. Behold,?Ye blessed, myself upon the ground I throw,?And kiss these stones, these clods?Whose fame, unto the end of time,?Shall sacred be in every clime.?Oh, had I, too, been here with you,?And this dear earth had moistened with my blood!?But since stern Fate would not consent?That I for Greece my dying eyes should close,?In conflict with her foes,?Still may the gracious gods accept?The offering I bring,?And grant to me the precious boon,?Your Hymn of Praise to sing!"
ON DANTE'S MONUMENT, 1818.
(THEN UNFINISHED.)
Though all the nations now?Peace gathers under her white wings,?The minds of Italy will ne'er be free?From the restraints of their old lethargy,?Till our ill-fated land cling fast?Unto the glorious memories of the Past.?Oh, lay it to thy heart, my Italy,?Fit honor to thy dead to pay;?For, ah, their like walk not thy streets to-day!?Nor is there one whom thou canst reverence!?Turn, turn, my country, and behold?That noble band of heroes old,?And weep, and on thyself thy anger vent,?For without anger, grief is impotent:?Oh, turn, and rouse thyself for shame,?Blush at the thought of sires so great,?Of children so degenerate!
Alien in mien, in genius, and in speech,?The eager guest from far?Went searching through the Tuscan soil to find?Where he reposed, whose verse sublime?Might fitly rank with Homer's lofty rhyme;?And oh! to our disgrace he heard?Not only that, e'er since his dying day,?In other soil his bones in exile lay,?But not a stone within thy walls was reared?To him, O Florence, whose renown?Caused thee to be by all the world revered.?Thanks to the brave, the generous band,?Whose timely labor from our land?Will this sad, shameful stain remove!?A noble task is yours,?And every breast with kindred zeal hath fired,?That is by love of Italy inspired.
May love of Italy inspire you still,?Poor mother, sad and lone,?To whom no pity now?In any breast is shown,?Now, that to golden days the evil days succeed.?May pity still, ye children dear,?Your hearts unite, your labors crown,?And grief and anger at her cruel pain,?As on her cheeks and veil the hot tears rain!?But how can I, in speech or song,?Your praises fitly sing,?To whose mature and careful thought,?The work superb, in your proud task achieved,?Will fame immortal bring??What notes of cheer can I now send to you,?That may unto your ardent souls appeal,?And add new fervor to your zeal?
Your lofty theme will inspiration give,?And its sharp thorns within your bosoms lodge.?Who can describe the whirlwind and the storm?Of your deep anger, and your deeper love??Who can your wonder-stricken looks portray,?The lightning in your eyes that gleams??What mortal tongue can such celestial themes?In language fit describe??Away ye souls, profane, away!?What tears will o'er this marble stone be shed!?How can it fall? How fall your fame sublime,?A victim to the envious tooth of Time??O ye, that can alleviate our woes,?Sole comfort of this wretched land,?Live ever, ye dear Arts divine,?Amid the ruins of our fallen state,?The glories of the past to celebrate!?I, too, who wish to pay?Due honor to our grieving mother, bring?Of