One of Garibaldi's Men

A crippled Child, a weak wan Boy,
Sat by his Mother's side, —
A widowed Mother's gentle joy,
Her only wealth and pride:
One of those Spirits, sweet and sad,
That breathe with burdened breath;
Are grave in life, but calmly glad
Their faces smile in death.

With a weird lustre in his look,
Over his books he pored,
Like one that, in a secret nook,
Sharpens a patriot sword.
The story of his Country's wrongs
Made his heart melt in tears;
The music of her olden songs
Bang ever in his ears.

Oft in his face, white as a corse,
Brave Soldier-blood up-springs,
Hot as the Warrior leaps to horse,
When Battle's trumpet riugs;
With spirit afloat and sense aflame,
Where Freedom's banners wave,
To win a name of glorious fame,
Or fill a Soldier's grave.

The leal heart of a loving Maid
Ban over towards him,
Longing with kisses to be stayed
There at the ruddy brim! —
But hushed the yearning in her breast,
Nor murmur made nor moan;
She looked as though she had found the nest,
And, lo! the Bird was flown.

Suddenly, Freedom's thunder-horn
The graveyard stillness broke; —
It was the Resurrection-Morn,
And Italy awoke!
He felt her majesty and strength
Up-lif t his spirit too:
To Manhood he had leaped at length,
And almost stately grew.

Then came, with all they had to give,
Each fervid worshipper:
And he, too, not worth much to live,
At least could die for her!
The Widow lent her only Child,
And bade him help to win;
While outwardly her proud face smiled,
She — dropping tears within!

The General looked on this young life
Held out in hands so small!
He could not, for the battle-strife,
Take the poor Widow's all.
" Poor Child! " he said, " rest you at home,
For the good Mother's sake;
We'll not forget you when we come."
It made his old heart ache.

'Twas at the close of a great day,
The " Red- Shirts" raised their cheer,
For Garibaldi came to say,
" Well done! " One cried, "I'm here I
And wounded in the Battle's brunt."
" What! hit behind, my Child?
But brave men wear their wounds in front"
And playfully he smiled.

Again, at the Volturno's fight,
The Boy led on his band;
Uplifted there on Capua's height,
He saw the Promised Land,
As Pilgrims watch their Mecca rise
Over the desert's rim;
He saw — possessed it with his eyes!
Enough, enough for him.

Proud of his Boys, the General rode
Past faces all aflame,
And praised them; and their spirits glowed
As if from heaven he came.
Then something caught his eye; he reined
His horse; stooped like a grand
Old weather-beaten Angel, stained
With battle-smoke, and tanned.

"With look more keen than cry or call,
One staggered from the rest:
" I'm hit once more, my General,
And " — pointing to his breast —
" This time— see! 'tis in the right place!'
His smile was strangely sweet;
He looked in Garibaldi's face,
And fell dead at his feet!