XIV

Beheld the armament of Austria flow

      Into the drowning heart of Tuscany.

And yet none wept, none cursed; or, if 'twas so,

      They wept and cursed in silence. Silently

Our noisy Tuscans watched the invading foe;

      They had learnt silence. Pressed against the wall

And grouped upon the church-steps opposite,

      A few pale men and women stared at all.

God knows what they were feeling, with their white

      Constrained faces!—they, so prodigal

Of cry and gesture when the world goes right,

      Or wrong indeed. But here, was depth of wrong,

And here, still water: they were silent here:

      And through that sentient silence, struck along

That measured tramp from which it stood out clear,

      Distinct the sound and silence, like a gong

Tolled upon midnight,-each made awfuller;

      While every soldier in his cap displayed

A leaf of olive. Dusty, bitter thing!

      Was such plucked at Novara, is it said?