TEAR from thy brow the olive wreath! Thy laughter sickens to a leer: Behold thy honor fall beneath The hammer of the auctioneer. Now Cain shall claim thee for his own And Judas keep thee company. Hell, when the blackest deeds are known, Shall hail the name of Italy. These are not Caesar's Seven Hills, Nor this the land that Dante trod; A breed of ingrates plagued with ills, To mankind traitor and to God. Vesuvius speak with molten lead, Roll on her plains thy fiery sea And, save for her immortal dead, Wipe out the name of Italy! Oh, Holy Father, held in gyves, They stray too far from out thy fold, These hucksters of their children's lives Who sold their souls for British gold! Pray for them, for Thy heart is kind, And where no mortal eye can see Perhaps God's mercy still may find She gave her brothers stone for bread; Now through her towns shall ride the Goth, And ruined valleys drenched with red Remind her of her broken troth. The Teuton thundering through the land Shall' set God's prisoned shepherd free, But thou shalt wear the scarlet band Of England's strumpet, Italy! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 1 by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS I HEAR AMERICA SINGING by WALT WHITMAN PRAYER by ANTON ALEXANDER VON AUERSPERG SPRING MORNING by MAVIS CLARE BARNETT THE LAST BALLADE; MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON LOQUITUR by THOMAS BEER NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 27 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT LOVE POEMS: 2. ON A LADY'S YELLOW HAIR, POWDERED WITH WHITE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) ON THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, LORD HERBERT by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) LINES ADDRESSED TO THE REV. J.T. BECHER by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |