herdsman of the Gadarean swine; So all his ravening kine, Made fat with poisonous pasture; so not we, Mother, beholding thee. Make answer, O the crown of all our slain, Ye that were one, being twain, Twain brethren, twin-born to the second birth, Chosen out of all our earth To be the prophesying stars that say How hard is night on day, Stars in serene and sudden heaven rerisen Before the sun break prison And ere the moon be wasted; fair first flowers In that red wreath of ours Woven with the lives of all whose lives were shed To crown their mother's head With leaves of civic cypress and thick yew,        Till the olive bind it too, Olive and laurel and all loftier leaves That victory wears or weaves At her fair feet for her beloved brow; Hear, for she too hears now, O Pisacane, from Calabrian sands; O all heroic hands Close on the sword-hilt, hands of all her dead; O many a holy head, Bowed for her sake even to her reddening dust; O chosen, O pure and just, Who counted for a small thing life's estate, And died, and made it great; Ye whose names mix with all her memories; ye Who rather chose to see Death, than our more intolerable things; Thou whose name withers kings, Agesilao; thou too, O chiefliest thou, The slayer of splendid brow, Laid where the lying lips of fear deride The foiled tyrannicide, Foiled, fallen, slain, scorned, and happy; being in fame, Felice, like thy name, Not like thy fortune; father of the fight, Having in hand our light. Ah, happy! for that sudden-swerving hand Flung light on all thy land, Yea, lit blind France with compulsory ray, Driven down a righteous way; Ah, happiest! for from thee the wars began, From thee the fresh springs ran; From thee the lady land that queens the earth Gat as she gave new birth. O sweet mute mouths, O all fair dead of ours,        Fair in her eyes as flowers, Fair without feature, vocal without voice, Strong without strength, rejoice! Hear it with ears that hear not, and on eyes That see not let it rise, Rise as a sundawn; be it as dew that drips On dumb and dusty lips; Eyes have ye not, and see it; neither ears, And there is none but hears. This is the same for whom ye bled and wept; She was not dead, but slept. This is that very Italy which was And is and shall not pass.       §      But thou, though all were not well done, O chief, Must thou take shame or grief? Because one man is not as thou or ten, Must thou take 

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