AY not, the struggle naught availeth,
The labor and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly! But westward, look, the land is bright. CLOUGH.
HAT voice did on my spirit fall,
W Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost?
""Tis better to have fought and lost Than never to have fought at all."
The tricolor-a trampled rag-
Lies dirt and dust; the lines I track
By sentries' boxes, yellow, black,
Lead up to no Italian flag.
I see the Croat soldier stand
Upon the grass of your redoubts;
The eagle with his black wing flouts
The breadth and beauty of your land
Yet not in vain, although in vain,
O men of Brescia! on the day
Of loss past hope, I heard you say
Your welcome to the noble pain.
You said: "Since so it is, good-bye,
Sweet life, high hope; but whatsoe'er
May be, or must, no tongue shall dare
To tell, 'The Lombard feared to die!""
You said (there shall be answer fit):
66 And if our children must obey,
They must; but, thinking on this day,
"Twill less debase them to submit."
You said (O not in vain you said):
"Haste, brothers, haste, while yet we may;
The hours ebb fast of this one day,
While blood may yet be nobly shed."
Ah! not for idle hatred, not
For honor, fame, nor self-applause,
But for the glory of the cause,
You did what will not be forgot.
And though the stranger stand, 'tis true,
By force and fortune's right he stands:
By fortune, which is in God's hands,
And strength, which yet shall spring in you.
This voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost:
""Tis better to have fought and lost
Than never to have fought at all."
Or shall I say: "Vain word, false thought, Since Prudence hath her martyrs too,
And Wisdom dictates not to do
Till doing shall be not for naught?
"Not ours to give or lose is life:
Will Nature, when her brave ones fall,
Remake her work? or songs recall
Death's victim slain in useless strife?"
That rivers flow into the sea
Is loss and waste, the foolish say,
Nor know that back they find their way,
Unseen, to where they wont to be.
Showers fall upon the hills, springs flow, The river runneth still at hand,
Brave men are born into the land,
And whence, the foolish do not know.
No! no vain voice did on me fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost:
"Tis better to have fought and lost
Than never to have fought at all."
|