IV

What need to swear? What need to boast thy blood

      Taintless of Austria, and thy heart unsold

Away from Florence? It was understood

      God made thee not too vigorous or too bold,

And men had patience with thy quiet mood,

      And women, pity, as they saw thee pace

Their festive streets with premature grey hairs:

      We turned the mild dejection of thy face

To princely meanings, took thy wrinkling cares

      For ruffling hopes, and called thee weak, not base.

Better to light the torches for more prayers

      And smoke the pale Madonnas at the shrine,

Being still "our poor Grand-duke," "our good Grand-duke,"

      "Who cannot help the Austrian in his line,"

Than write an oath upon a nation's book

      For men to spit at with scorn's blurring brine!

Who dares forgive what none can overlook?