Garibaldi: An Ode

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
A long descended naonarch proud,
With right divine to hold men bowed ?
Methinks we've seen such gods before,
And heard imbruted myriads roar
Acclaim to one with murdering sword
A lust of power hath foully gored,
Or marked some thin official cheer
JNIid passers lowering through their fear-
Not such a king of men is here !

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
No military pageant flares.
Nor cannon booms, nor trumpet blares.
But only mighty London pours
Her fire of life that chafes and roars,
Licks up the roofs with giant glee
And bursts at every window free !
Kerchiefs of women, banners wave,
As this king's mission were to save
Not kill ; so run their mottoes brave !

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
The people crowd his chariot way,
To grasp his hand they surge and sway ;
From each full heart the welcome cries,
Each soul leaps forth from beaming eyes ;
What hero so can stir us all ?
This man at least hath saved from thrall
Our England ! Nay, behold the man.
Yon lionlike Italian,
Whose calm pure smile our welcomes fan

Shout ! a king of men is here I
Hurrah !
A king indeed of spirits this,
More like the kings in yonder bliss
Beyond the blue, like those we trust
Men shall own kings when we are dust.
In some far golden age of time,
When the old gods lie trailed in slime;
We labouring up the darkened stream
Behold in yonder orient gleam
One sail, a guide to morning's beam !

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
Behold ! this nature's flint and sand
Were fused in fire by Love's command
All to one diamond, for so
He and Mazzini seem to glow :
Such loving men, monarchs alone
Of alien spirits and their own :
Behold him from the tyrant rive
A crown, yet only take to give !
'Tis royal Love's prerogative.

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
Our baubles, crowns and titles, gold.
Seem to the man of such a mould
As the wild Indian's glory does.
The war-paint and the scalp, to us :
His glory lies in doing good,
His crown men's hearts, each one imbued
With that same sense of one for all,
He compasseth them grand withal,
So would he have men feel his thrall !

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
Not you who, if the incarnate God
Came now, would fix with sapient nod
Your microscopic intellect,
And mince, " A pimple we detect ; "
Since if you rushed to clasp his feet
Like the rude mob so indiscreet.
Rich fumes your nostrils full inhale
From your sweet selves might chance to fail.
The rush would make them hindward trail !

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
Where nobles vie to honour him
Whom God made noblest man of them,
So honouring our lordly class,
I hear two loungers as they pass,
Some dandy man and woman, sneer
" Turn not your back, the king is here ! "
If he had kept the crown he took.
How meek that toy would make them look !
Mere naked worth they cannot brook.

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
Hoar institutions mouldering stand
Of yore for service wisely planned.
Persian nor Greek nor Arab spilt
Stupendous fanes by Pharaoh built ;
Only when earthquake shook the crust
Bowed those "eternal" piles in dust :
Through desert courts the jackal bays.
The moon o'er unknown symbol strays
So now the people new power essays.

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
Old thrones and creeds begin to sway
As the young giant feels for day.
King Philistines have bound his wrist,
Delilah Superstition kissed
His mouth as in her lap he slept,
But crave for light and air hath crept
About his smothered lethargy ;
He stirs, he stretches, fetters fly :
Free stalks he, pigmies cowering by !

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
Rome bleeding, panting, moment-free
Turned not in vain wild eyes to thee —
Lo ! she with Venice turns them yet !
Even now perchance thou mightst have set
Another flaming diadem
On him thy countrymen esteem
Had not his soldiers shot thee down
In act from strife to hold thine own- —
Gap gemless in that monarch's crown.

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Hurrah !
King even at Aspromonte, hail !
We see thee wounded, worn and pale.
With saddened soul yet tranquil eye
Gaze where rich-vestured mountains lie
Clear-glassed in Spezzia's lakelike sea,
Thy bonds deep shame to Italy :
On prophet vision thy spirit throve —
A world calm as yon seas through love —
Drowned Shelley's spirit here must move !

We see thee in thine island home,
Caprera ringed with whispering foam.
Set in Mediterranean blue ;
Thy goats i' the wild thyme browsing chew ;
Thy thoughts go wandering dreamily
Round all the strange sad past and nigh
Yon lowland cursed where faint from day
Thy noble Anita sank for aye :
Yet there unborn great souls shall pray !

Shout ! a king of men is here !
Plurrah !
Now down the traffic-teeming river
A course of molted gold doth quiver
'Neath Westminster's vast-moulded arch,
While o'er it moves thy triumph march.
In far nooks formless shadows cower,
In evening chrj'sohte yon tower
Mounts o'er the stately palace-pile
Where a free people calm laws compile —
We lack thy selflessness sublime.
Yet tremble, tyrants crowned with crime !
Our hearts with those who strain to climb ;
Hail ! herald of the dawning time !
Hail ! the new world's exuberant prime !

1864.