Borne on white horses, which the God of Thrace Rein'd not for wanton Glory in the race Of Elis, when from far Ran forth the regal car, Even from Syracuse, across the sea, To roll its thunder thro' that fruitless lea; No; but on steeds whose foam Flew o'er the helm of Rome, Came Castor and his brother; at which sight A shout of victory drown'd the din of fight. O Rome! O Italy! Doom'd are ye, doom'd to see Nor guides divine nor high-aspiring men, Nor proudly tread the battle-field again? Lo! who are they who land Upon that southern strand? Ingenuous are their faces, firm their gait . . Ah! but what darkness follows them? . . 'tis Fate! They turn their heads . . and blood Alone shows where they stood! Sons of Bandiera! heroes! by your name Evoked shall inextinguishable flame Rise, and o'er-run you coast, And animate the host As did those Twins . . the murderers to pursue Till the same sands their viler blood imbue. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTLEY: THE GHOST by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE DIVINATION BY A DAFFADILL by ROBERT HERRICK ON A GRAVE AT GRINDELWALD by FREDERICK WILLIAM HENRY MYERS GOOD FRIDAY (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ON AN ANNIVERSARY by JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE |