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SIGNS OF THE TIMES.
Soon they'll spring to vengeance, maddened by the whisperings divine,That breathed of human freedom, as they knelt before God's shrine.See you not a form advancing, as the shadow of the Gnomon,Step by step, in darkness, onward—can ye read the fatal omen!Coarse the hand, and rude the raiment, and the brow is dark to see,But flashes fierce the eye as those of vengeful Zincali.
III.On its brow a name is written—France read it once before,And like a demon's compact, it was written in her gore—A fearful name thrones trembled as the murmur passed along—Retribution, proud oppressors, for your centuries of wrong.From the orient to the ocean, from the palm-tree to the pine,From Innisfail, by Tagus, to the lordly Appenine—From Indus to the river by which pale Warsaw bleeds—Souls are wakening—hands are arming—God is blessing noble deeds.
IV.Bravely done, ye Roman Eagles, ye are fluttering at last;Spread your broad wings brave and proudly, as in old times, to the blast;Never furl them—never flag, till with the Austrian's slaughter,Ye crimson the full tide of the Danube's rolling water.Who will falter now? Who'll stand like a trembling coward dumb!Plaudite! Freedom stands again on the Janiculum!From the Tiber to the Adige her vatic words are waking,Italy fair Italy! arise the dawn is breaking!
