Classic Poem

I

H E bent his head upon his breast
Wherein his lion-heart lay sick: —
" Perhaps we are not ill-repaid;
Perhaps this is not a true test;
Perhaps this was not a foul trick;
Perhaps none wronged, and none betrayed.

II

" Perhaps the people's vote which here
United, there may disunite,
And both be lawful as they think;
Perhaps a patriot statesman, dear
For chartering nations, can with right
Disfranchise those who hold the ink.

III

" Perhaps men's wisdom is not craft;
Men's greatness, not a selfish greed;
Men's justice, not the safer side;
Perhaps even women, when they laughed,
Wept, thanked us that the land was freed,
Not wholly (though they kissed us) lied.

IV

" Perhaps no more than this we meant,
When up at Austria's guns we flew,
And quenched them with a cry apiece,
Italia! — Yet a dream was sent . . .
The little house my father knew,
The olives and the palms of Nice."

V

He paused, and drew his sword out slow,
Then pored upon the blade intent,
As if to read some written thing;
While many murmured, — " He will go
In that despairing sentiment
And break his sword before the King."

VI

He poring still upon the blade,
His large lid quivered, something fell.
" Perhaps," he said, " I was not born
With such fine brains to treat and trade, —
And if a woman knew it well,
Her falsehood only meant her scorn.

VII

" Yet through Varese's cannon-smoke
My eye saw clear: men feared this man
At Como, where this sword could seal
Death's protocol with every stroke:
And now . . . the drop there scarcely can
Impair the keenness of the steel.

VIII

" So man and sword may have their use;
And if the soil beneath my foot
In valor's act is forfeited,
I 'll strike the harder, take my dues
Out nobler, and all loss confute
From ampler heavens above my head.

IX

" My King, King Victor, I am thine!
So much Nice-dust as what I am
(To make our Italy) must cleave.
Forgive that." Forward with a sign
He went.
You 've seen the telegram?
Palermo 's taken, we believe.