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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115125" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Day-dawn in Italy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Italia! in thy bleeding heart,<br>  I thought, e'en hope was dead;<br> That from thy scarred and prostrate form,<br>  The spark of life had fled.<br> <br> I thought, as Memory's sunset glow<br>  Its radiance o'er thee cast,<br> That all thy glory and thy fame<br>  Were buried in the past.<br> <br> Twice Mistress of the world! I thought<br>  Thy star had set in gloom;<br> That all thy shrines and monuments<br>  Were but thy spirit's tomb.<br> <br> The mausoleum of the world,<br>  Where Art her spoils might keep;<br> Where pilgrims from all shrines might come,<br>  To wonder and to weep.<br> <br> The thunders of the Vatican<br>  Had long since died away;<br> Saint Peter's chair seemed tottering,<br>  And crumbling to decay.<br> <br> Thy ancient line of Pontiff Kings<br>  Was to the past allied;<br> And oft in Freedom's holy wars<br>  They fought not on her side.<br> <br> The sacred banner of the Cross<br>  Was trailing, soiled and torn;<br> And often had the hostile ranks<br>  That blessed ensign borne.<br> <br> But from her death-like slumber now,<br>  The seven-hilled city wakes:<br> Italia! on thy shrouded sky,<br>  A gleam of morning breaks.<br> <br> Along the Alps and Appenines<br>  Runs an electric thrill;<br> A golden splendor lights once more<br>  The Capitolian hill.<br> <br> And hopes, bright as thy sunny skies,<br>  Are o'er thy future cast;<br> The future that upon thee beams,<br>  As glorious as thy past.<br> <br> The laurels that thy Caesars wore,<br>  Were dyed with crimson stains;<br> Their triumphs glittered with the spoil<br>  Won on thy battle plains.<br> <br> But for thy Pontiff Prince, to-day,<br>  A laurel might'st thou twine,<br> Unsullied as the spotless life<br>  He lays upon thy shrine.<br> <br> For him might the triumphal car<br>  Ascend the hill again;<br> No slaves, bound to the chariot wheels,<br>  Should swell the lengthened train: --<br> <br> Such train, as in her proudest days,<br>  Was never seen in Rome, --<br> Of captives from the dungeon freed, --<br>  Of exiles welcomed home.<br> <br> When, gazing on the doubtful strife,<br>  The Hebrew leader prayed,<br> The friends of Israel gathered round,<br>  His drooping hands they staid.<br> <br> And thus around the Patriarch's chair,<br>  The friends of Freedom stand, --<br> All eager, though it falters not,<br>  To stay his lifted hand.<br> <br> And in a clearer, firmer tone,<br>  Is heard their rallying cry;<br> From AEtna to the Alps it sounds:<br>  "For God and Liberty!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Lynch+Botta">Anne Lynch Botta</a> from <i>Poems</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115125" data-title="Day-dawn in Italy de Anne Lynch Botta" data-description="Italia! in thy bleeding heart,/  I thought, e'en hope was dead;/ That from thy scarred and prostrate form,/  The spark of life had fled./ / I thought, as Memory's sunset glow/  Its radiance o'er thee cast,/ That all thy glory and thy fame/  Were b..."></div>
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