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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359093" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Italy (1818)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My country, I the walls, the arches see,<br>The columns, statues, and the towers<br>Deserted, of our ancestors;<br>But, ah, the glory I do not behold,<br>The laurel and the sword, that graced<br>Our sires of old.<br>Now, all unarmed, a naked brow,<br>A naked breast dost thou display.<br>Ah, me, how many wounds, what stains of blood!<br>Oh, what a sight art thou,<br>Most beautiful of women! I<br>To heaven cry aloud, and to the world:<br>'Who hath reduced her to this pass?<br>Say, say!' And worst of all, alas,<br>See, both her arms in chains are bound!<br>With hair dishevelled, and without a veil<br>She sits, disconsolate, upon the ground,<br>And hides her face between her knees,<br>As she bewails her miseries.<br>Oh, weep, my Italy, for thou hast cause;<br>Thou, who wast born the nations to subdue,<br>As victor, and as victim, too!<br>Oh, if thy eyes two living fountains were,<br>The volume of their tears could ne'er express<br>Thy utter helplessness, thy shame;<br>Thou, who wast once the haughty dame,<br>And, now, the wretched slave.<br>Who speaks, or writes of thee,<br>That must not bitterly exclaim:<br>'She once was great, but, oh, behold her now'?<br>Why hast thou fallen thus, oh, why?<br>Where is the ancient force?<br>Where are the arms, the valor, constancy?<br>Who hath deprived thee of thy sword?<br>What treachery, what skill, what labor vast,<br>Or what o'erwhelming horde<br>Whose fierce, invading tide, thou could'st not stem,<br>Hath robbed thee of thy robe and diadem?<br>From such a height how couldst thou fall so low?<br>Will none defend thee? No?<br>No son of thine? For arms, for arms, I call;<br>Alone I'll fight for thee, alone will fall.<br>And from my blood, a votive offering,<br>May flames of fire in every bosom spring!<br>Where are thy sons? The sound of arms I hear,<br>Of chariots, of voices, and of drums;<br>From foreign lands it comes,<br>For which thy children fight.<br>Oh, hearken, hearken, Italy! I see,--<br>Or is it but a dream?--<br>A wavering of horse and foot,<br>And smoke, and dust, and flashing swords,<br>That like the lightning gleam.<br>Art thou not comforted? Dost turn away<br>Thy eyes, in horror, from the doubtful fray?<br>Ye gods, ye gods. Oh, can it be?<br>The youth of Italy<br>Their hireling swords for other lands have bared!<br>Oh, wretched he in war who falls,<br>Not for his native shores,<br>His loving wife and children dear,<br>But, fighting for another's gain,<br>And by another's foe is slain!<br>Nor can he say, as his last breath he draws,<br>'My mother-land, beloved, ah see,<br>The life thou gav'st, I render back to thee!'<br>Oh fortunate and dear and blessed,<br>The ancient days, when rushed to death the brave,<br>In crowds, their country's life to save!<br>And you, forever glorious,<br>Thessalian straits,<br>Where Persia, Fate itself, could not withstand<br>The fiery zeal of that devoted band!<br>Do not the trees, the rocks, the waves,<br>The mountains, to each passer-by,<br>With low and plaintive voice tell<br>The wondrous tale of those who fell,<br>Heroes invincible who gave<br>Their lives, their Greece to save?<br>Then cowardly as fierce,<br>Xerxes across the Hellespont retired,<br>A laughing-stock to all succeeding time;<br>And up Anthela's hill, where, e'en in death<br>The sacred Band immortal life obtained,<br>Simonides slow-climbing, thoughtfully,<br>Looked forth on sea and shore and sky.<br>And then, his cheeks with tears bedewed,<br>And heaving breast, and trembling foot, he stood,<br>His lyre in hand and sang:<br>'O ye, forever blessed,<br>Who bared your breasts unto the foeman's lance,<br>For love of her, who gave you birth;<br>By Greece revered, and by the world admired,<br>What ardent love your youthful minds inspired,<br>To rush to arms, such perils dire to meet,<br>A fate so hard, with loving smiles to greet?<br>Her children, why so joyously,<br>Ran ye, that stern and rugged pass to guard?<br>As if unto a dance,<br>Or to some splendid feast,<br>Each one appeared to haste,<br>And not grim death Death to brave;<br>But Tartarus awaited ye,<br>And the cold Stygian wave;<br>Nor were your wives or children at your side,<br>When, on that rugged shore,<br>Without a kiss, without a tear, ye died.<br>But not without a fearful blow<br>To Persians dealt, and their undying shame.<br>As at a herd of bulls a lion glares,<br>Then, plunging in, upon the back<br>Of this one leaps, and with his claws<br>A passage all along his chine he tears,<br>And fiercely drives his teeth into his sides,<br>Such havoc Grecian wrath and valor made<br>Amongst the Persian ranks, dismayed.<br>Behold each prostrate rider and his steed;<br>Behold the chariots, and the fallen tents,<br>A tangled mass their flight impede;<br>And see, among the first to fly,<br>The tyrant, pale, and in disorder wild!<br>See, how the Grecian youths,<br>With blood barbaric dyed,<br>And dealing death on every side,<br>By slow degrees by their own wounds subdued,<br>The one upon the other fall. Farewell,<br>Ye heroes blessed, whose names shall live,<br>While tongue can speak, or pen your story tell!<br>Sooner the stars, torn from their spheres, shall hiss,<br>Extinguished in the bottom of the sea,<br>Than the dear memory, and love of you,<br>Shall suffer loss, or injury.<br>Your tomb an altar is; the mothers here<br>Shall come, unto their little ones to show<br>The lovely traces of your blood. Behold,<br>Ye blessed, myself upon the ground I throw,<br>And kiss these stones, these clods<br>Whose fame, unto the end of time,<br>Shall sacred be in every clime.<br>Oh, had I, too, been here with you,<br>And this dear earth had moistened with my blood!<br>But since stern Fate would not consent<br>That I for Greece my dying eyes should close,<br>In conflict with her foes,<br>Still may the gracious gods accept<br>The offering I bring,<br>And grant to me the precious boon,<br>Your Hymn of Praise to sing!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Count+Giacomo+Leopardi">Count Giacomo Leopardi</a><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=359093" data-title="To Italy (1818) de Count Giacomo Leopardi" data-description="My country, I the walls, the arches see,
The columns, statues, and the towers
Deserted, of our ancestors;
But, ah, the glory I do not behold,
The laurel and the sword, that graced
Our sires of old.
Now, all unarmed, a naked brow,
A naked breast do..."></div>
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