Or should be, and that Tuscany in arms
Should, would, dislodge her, in high hardihood!
And yet, to leave our piazzas, shops, and farms,
For the bare sake of fighting, was not good.
We proved that also—"Did we carry charms
Against being killed ourselves, that we should rush
On killing others? What! desert herewith
Our wives and mothers!—was that duty? Tush!"
At which we shook the sword within the sheath,
Like heroes—only louder! and the flush
Ran up our cheek to meet the victor's wreath.
Nay; what we proved, we shouted—how we shouted,
(Especially the little boys did) planting
That tree of liberty whose fruit is doubted
Because the roots are not of nature's granting—
A tree of good and evil!—none, without it,
Grow gods!-alas, and, with it, men were wanting.
VIII.
O holy rights of nations! If I speak
These bitter things against the jugglery
Of days that in your names proved blind and weak,
It is that tears are bitter. When we see
The brown skulls grin at death in churchyards bleak,
We do not cry, "This Yorick is too light,"—
For death grows deathlier with that mouth he makes.
So with my mocking. Bitter things I write,
Because my soul is bitter for your sakes,
O freedom! O my Florence!
