XIX

Go out in music of the morning star—

And soon we shall have thinkers in the place

      Of fighters; each found able as a man

To strike electric influence through a race,

      Unstayed by city-wall and barbican.

The poet shall look grander in the face

      Than ever he looked of old, when he began

To sing that "Achillean wrath which slew

      So many heroes,"—seeing he shall treat

The deeds of souls heroic toward the true—

      The oracles of life—previsions sweet

And awful, like divine swans gliding through

      White arms of Ledas, which will leave the heat

Of their escaping godship to endue

      The human medium with a heavenly flush.

Meanwhile, in this same Italy we want

      Not popular passion, to arise and crush.

But popular conscience, which may covenant

      For what it knows. Concede without a blush—

To grant the "civic guard" is not to grant

      The civic spirit, living and awake.

Those lappets on your shoulders, citizens,

      Your eyes strain after sideways till they ache,

While still, in admirations and amens,

      The crowd comes up on festa-days, to take

The great sight in—are not intelligence,

      Not courage even—alas, if not the sign

Of something very noble, they are nought;

      For every day ye dress your sallow kine

With fringes down their cheeks, though unbesought

      They loll their heavy heads and drag the wine,

And bear the wooden yoke as they were taught

      The first day. What ye want is light-indeed

Not sunlight—(ye may well look up surprised

      To those unfathomable heavens that feed

Your purple hills!)—but God's light organised

      In some high soul, crowned capable to lead

The conscious people,—conscious and advised,—

      For if we lift a people like mere clay,

It falls the same. We want thee, O unfound

      And sovran teacher!—if thy beard be grey

Or black, we bid thee rise up from the ground

      And speak the word God giveth thee to say,

Inspiring into all this people round,

      Instead of passion, thought, which pioneers

All generous passion, purifies from sin,

      And strikes the hour for. Rise thou teacher! here's

A crowd to make a nation!—best begin

      By making each a man, till all be peers

Of earth's true patriots and pure martyrs in

      Knowing and daring. Best unbar the doors

Which Peter's heirs keep locked so overclose

      They only let the mice across the floors,

While every churchman dangles as he goes

      The great key at his girdle, and abhors

In Christ's name, meekly. Open wide the house—

      Concede the entrance with Christ's liberal mind,

And set the tables with His wine and bread.

      What! commune in "both kinds?" In every kind—

Wine, wafer, love, hope, truth, unlimited,

      Nothing kept back. For, when a man is blind

To starlight, will he see the rose is red?

      A bondsman shivering at a Jesuit's foot—

"Væ! meá culpâ!" is not like to stand

      A freedman at a despot's, and dispute

His titles by the balance in his hand,

      Weighing them "suo jure." Tend the root,

If careful of the branches; and expand

      The inner souls of men, before you strive

For civic heroes.