FRIENDS! | |
| I come not here to talk. Ye know too well | |
| The story of our thraldom. We are slaves! | |
| The bright sun rises to his course, and lights | |
| A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam | 5 |
| Falls on a slave: not such as, swept along | |
| By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads | |
| To crimson glory and undying fame,— | |
| But base, ignoble slaves!—slaves to a horde | |
| Of petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords, | 10 |
| Rich in some dozen paltry villages; | |
| Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great | |
| In that strange spell—a name! Each hour, dark fraud, | |
| Or open rapine, or protected murder, | |
| Cry out against them. But this very day, | 15 |
| An honest man, my neighbor,—there he stands,— | |
| Was struck—struck like a dog, by one who wore | |
| The badge of Orsini! because, forsooth, | |
| He tossed not high his ready cap in air, | |
| Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, | 20 |
| At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men, | |
| And suffer such dishonor? Men, and wash not | |
| The stain away in blood? Such shames are common. | |
| I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,— | |
| I had a brother once, a gracious boy, | 25 |
| Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, | |
| Of sweet and quiet joy. There was the look | |
| Of heaven upon his face, which limners give | |
| To the beloved disciple. How I loved | |
| That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years, | 30 |
| Brother at once and son! He left my side, | |
| A summer bloom on his fair cheeks—a smile | |
| Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, | |
| The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw | |
| The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried | 35 |
| For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves! | |
| Have ye brave sons?—Look in the next fierce brawl | |
| To see them die! Have ye fair daughters?—Look | |
| To see them live, torn from your arms, disdained, | |
| Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice, | 40 |
| Be answered by the lash! Yet, this is Rome, | |
| That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne | |
| Of beauty ruled the world! Yet, we are Romans. | |
| Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman | |
| Was greater than a king! And once again— | 45 |
| Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread | |
| Of either Brutus!—once again I swear | |
| The Eternal City shall be free! | |
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