| |
| OVER his millions Death has lawful power, | |
| But over thee, brave D’Ossoli! none, none. | |
| After a longer struggle, in a fight | |
| Worthy of Italy to youth restored, | |
| Thou, far from home, art sunk beneath the surge | 5 |
| Of the Atlantic; on its shore; in reach | |
| Of help; in trust of refuge; sunk with all | |
| Precious on earth to thee,—a child, a wife! | |
| Proud as thou wert of her, America | |
| Is prouder, showing to her sons how high | 10 |
| Swells woman’s courage in a virtuous breast. | |
| She would not leave behind her those she loved: | |
| Such solitary safety might become | |
| Others; not her; not her who stood beside | |
| The pallet of the wounded, when the worst | 15 |
| Of France and Perfidy assailed the walls | |
| Of unsuspicious Rome. Rest, glorious soul, | |
| Renowned for strength of genius, Margaret! | |
| Rest with the twain too dear! My words are few, | |
| And shortly none will hear my failing voice, | 20 |
| But the same language with more full appeal | |
| Shall hail thee. Many are the sons of song | |
| Whom thou hast heard upon thy native plains | |
| Worthy to sing of thee: the hour is come; | |
| Take we our seats and let the dirge begin. | 25 |
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