YES! thou hast met the sun's last smile From the haunted hills of Rome; By many a bright AEgean isle Thou hast seen the billows foam. From the silence of the Pyramid, Thou hast watched the solemn flow Of the Nile, that with its waters hid The ancient realm below. Thy heart hath burned, as shepherds sung Some wild and warlike strain, Where the Moorish horn once proudly rung Through the pealing hills of Spain. And o'er the lonely Grecian streams Thou hast heard the laurels moan, With a sound yet murmuring in thy dreams Of the glory that is gone. But go thou to the pastoral vales Of the Alpine mountains old, If thou wouldst hear immortal tales By the wind's deep whispers told! Go, if thou lovest the soil to tread Where man hath nobly striven, And life, like incense, hath been shed, An offering unto heaven. For o'er the snows, and round the pines, Hath swept a noble flood; The nurture of the peasant's vines Hath been the martyr's blood! A spirit, stronger than the sword, And loftier than despair, Through all the heroic region poured, Breathes in the generous air. A memory clings to every steep Of long-enduring faith, And the sounding streams glad record keep Of courage unto death. Ask of the peasant where his sires For truth and freedom bled? Ask, where were lit the torturing fires, Where lay the holy dead! And he will tell thee, all around, On fount, and turf, and stone, Far as the chamois' foot can bound, Their ashes have been sown! Go, when the Sabbath-bell is heard Up through the wilds to float, When the dark old woods and caves are stirred To gladness by the note; When forth, along their thousand rills, The mountain people come, Join thou their worship on those hills Of glorious martyrdom. And while the song of praise ascends, And while the torrent's voice, Like the swell of many an organ, blends, Then let thy soul rejoice. Rejoice, that human hearts, through scorn, Through shame, through death, made strong, Before the rocks and heavens have borne Witness of God so long! |