XXXI

Above the shrieks, in Naples, and prevail.

Rows of shot corpses, waiting for the end

      Of burial, seem to smile up straight and pale

Into the azure air, and apprehend

      That final gun-flash from Palermo's coast,

Which lightens their apocalypse of death.

      So let them die! The world shows nothing lost;

Therefore, not blood! Above or underneath,

      What matter, brothers, if we keep our post

Or truth's and duty's side! As sword to sheath,

      Dust turns to grave, but souls find place in Heaven.

O friends, heroic daring is success,

The eucharistic bread requires no leaven;

And though your ends were hopeless, we should bless

      Your cause as holy! Strive-and, having striven,

Take, for God's recompense, that righteousness!