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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420858" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Pius IX</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE cannon's brazen lips are cold;<br>No red shell blazes down the air;<br>And street and tower, and temple old,<br>Are silent as despair.<br>The Lombard stands no more at bay,<br>Rome's fresh young life has bled in vain;<br>The ravens scattered by the day<br>Come back with night again.<br>Now, while the fratricides of France<br>Are treading on the neck of Rome,<br>Hider at Gaeta, seize thy chance!<br>Coward and cruel, come!<br>Creep now from Naples' bloody skirt;<br>Thy mummer's part was acted well,<br>While Rome, with steel and fire begirt,<br>Before thy crusade fell!<br>Her death-groans answered to thy prayer;<br>Thy chant, the drum and bugle-call;<br>Thy lights, the burning villa's glare;<br>Thy beads, the shell and ball!<br>Let Austria clear thy way, with hands<br>Foul from Ancona's cruel sack,<br>And Naples, with his dastard bands<br>Of murderers, lead thee back!<br>Rome's lips are dumb; the orphan's wail,<br>The mother's shriek, thou mayst not hear<br>Above the faithless Frenchman's hail,<br>The unsexed shaveling's cheer!<br>Go, bind on Rome her cast-off weight,<br>The double curse of crook and crown,<br>Though woman's scorn and manhood's hate<br>From wall and roof flash down!<br>Nor heed those blood-stains on the wall,<br>Not Tiber's flood can wash away,<br>Where, in thy stately Quirinal,<br>Thy mangled victims lay!<br>Let the world murmur; let its cry<br>Of horror and disgust be heard;<br>Truth stands alone; thy coward lie<br>Is backed by lance and sword!<br>The cannon of St. Angelo,<br>And chanting priest and clanging bell,<br>And beat of drum and bugle blow,<br>Shall greet thy coming well!<br>Let lips of iron and tongues of slaves<br>Fit welcome give thee; for her part,<br>Rome, frowning o'er her new-made graves,<br>Shall curse thee from her heart!<br>No wreaths of sad Campagna's flowers<br>Shall childhood in thy pathway fling;<br>No garlands from their ravaged bowers<br>Shall Terni's maidens bring;<br>But, hateful as that tyrant old,<br>The mocking witness of his crime,<br>In thee shall loathing eyes behold<br>The Nero of our time!<br>Stand where Rome's blood was freest shed,<br>Mock Heaven with impious thanks, and call<br>Its curses on the patriot dead,<br>Its blessings on the Gaul!<br>Or sit upon thy throne of lies,<br>A poor, mean idol, blood-besmeared,<br>Whom even its worshippers despise,<br>Unhonored, unrevered!<br>Yet, Scandal of the World! from thee<br>One needful truth mankind shall learn:<br>That kings and priests to Liberty<br>And God are false in turn.<br>Earth wearies of them; and the long<br>Meek sufferance of the Heavens doth fail;<br>Woe for weak tyrants, when the strong<br>Wake, struggle, and prevail!<br>Not vainly Roman hearts have bled<br>To feed the, Crosier and the Crown,<br>If, roused thereby, the world shall tread<br>The twin-born vampires down!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</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=420858" data-title="To Pius IX de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="THE cannon's brazen lips are cold;
No red shell blazes down the air;
And street and tower, and temple old,
Are silent as despair.
The Lombard stands no more at bay,
Rome's fresh young life has bled in vain;
The ravens scattered by the day
Come bac..."></div>
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