Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AGESILAO MILANO; NAPLES, 1856, by HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON (BAILLE) KING Poet's Biography First Line: For the glory and the passion of this midnight Last Line: The passion of this hour, for evermore. Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton-king, Harriet Eleanor Subject(s): Italy - Revolutions; Milano, Agesilao; Regicide | ||||||||
FOR the glory and the passion of this midnight, I praise Thy name, I give Thee thanks, O Christ Thou that hast neither failed me nor forsaken, Through these hard hours with victory overpriced; Now that I too of Thy passion have partaken, For the world's sake called, elected, sacrificed. Thou wast alone through Thy redemption-vigil, Thy friends had fled; The angel at the garden from Thee parted, And solitude instead, More than the scourge, or cross, O tender-hearted, Under the crown of thorns bowed down Thy head. But I, amid the torture, and the taunting, I have had Thee! Thy hand was holding my hand fast and faster, Thy voice was close to me, And glorious eyes said, 'Follow me, thy Master, Smile as I smile thy faithfulness to see,' Thou hast not called me only, but enabled, To do Thy will; Between the flesh and spirit put no severance, That I might all fulfil; Given me grace to strike the land's deliverance, Given me strength to suffer and be still. Naples is glad because her king has fallen By my hand first; Take home the lesson to thee, faithless warden, The foremost and the worst, Who makest of this lovely land, God's garden, A nation violate, corrupt, accurst. This right hand, wasted now by knife and furnace, Struck home the blow; Whether he die to-night or he recover, This and no more they know, To follow me one hundred are sworn over, Whose names they would tear from me ere I go. Follow me all, and fear not, O my brothers, For this ye see; I who passed first confirm you by this token, Stronger than them are we; For cord, and fire, and steel to me have spoken, And none have had an answer out of me. Is not the air still sickened with the scorching Of flesh from bone? Is not the blood from stripes on stripes unslackened Still dripping to the stone? Loosened at last, each limb falls bruised and blackened Into a stiffening weight of fire alone. Master, our hearts can save us as thou spakest! Have they not spent All night their uttermost on me unholpen? Behold my body rent And broken;but among the wounds wide open Ye will not find a broken sacrament. By the deed done, by torture overmastered, And death outbraved, For ever from denial and dishonour, Soul, thou this night art saved! Italia, with the purple robe upon her, Shall know me faithful by these scars engraved. 'Spared but till sunrise;else would Death forestall us, Mercifullest.' Yea, all their worst is done, they cannot keep me Now, should they do their best. Back from the gates of Paradise, nor steep me In any healing halm of earthly rest. Sunrise! and it is summer, and the morning Waits glorified An hour hence, when the cool clear rose-cloud gathers About heaven's eastern side, And down the azure grottoes where the bathers Loose the tired limbs, a lovely light will glide. Fold after fold the winding waves of opal The sands will drown; And when the morning-star amid the pearly Light of the east goes down, Then my star shall arise, and late and early Shine for a jewel in the Master's crown. Mazzini, Master, singer of the sunrise! Knowest thou me? I held thy hand once, and the summer lightning Still of thy smile I see; Me thou rememberest not amidst the heightening Vision of God, and of God's Will to be. But thou wilt hear of me, by noon to-morrow, And henceforth I Shall be to thee a memory and a token Out of the starry sky; And when my soul unto thy soul hath spoken, Enough,I shall not wholly pass nor die. Italia, when thou comest to thy kingdom, Remember me! Me, who on this thy night of shame and sorrow Was scourged and slain with thee; Me, who upon thy resurrection morrow Shall stand among thy sons beside thy knee. Shalt thou not be one day, indeed, O Mother, Enthroned of all, To the world's vision as to ours now only, At Rome for festival; Around thee gathered all thy lost and lonely And loyal ones, that failed not at thy call; With golden lyre, or violet robe of mourning, Or battle-scar; And one shall stand more glorious than the others, He of the Morning-Star, Whose face lights all the faces of his brothers, Out of the silvery northern land afar. But grant to me there, unto all beholders, Bare to the skies, To stand with bleeding hands, and feet, and shoulders, And rapt, unflinching eyes, And locked lips, yielding to the question-holders Nor moanings, nor beseechings, nor replies. Is the hour hard? Too soon it will be over, Too sweet, too sore; The arms of Death fold over me with rapture, Life knew not heretofore; Heaven will be peace, but I shall not recapture The passion of this hour, for evermore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WIFE OF FERGUS; A MONODRAMA by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE FATE OF MAXIMILIAN OF MEXICO AND HIS EMPRESS by JANET HAMILTON THE TOMBS OF THE REGICIDES: LUDLOW AND BROUGHTON by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL ANARCHY by CONDE BENOIST PALLEN INSCRIPTION FOR THE APARTMENT [OR PRISON] IN CHEPSTOW CASTLE by ROBERT SOUTHEY SINGING OF ANCIENT TIMES by WU XIAO A DREAM MAIDEN by HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON (BAILLE) KING BARON GIOVANNI NICOTERA; SALERNO, 1858 by HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON (BAILLE) KING JACOPO RUFFINI; GENOA, 1833 by HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON (BAILLE) KING MEASURING LIFE by HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON (BAILLE) KING THE CROCUS by HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON (BAILLE) KING THE DISCIPLES: OVERTURE by HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON (BAILLE) KING |
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