tino, of Trieste, of Istria, of Dalmatia, these poets spoke and speak with the voice of Italy, participating in her intellectual life, sharing her aspirations and ideals. Thus from the foot of the Alps and from the shores of the Adriatic—regions where, as a poet of Trieste has said, every stone and every cave reflects the light of Rome or echoes the roar of the winged lion of Venice (4)—the Virgilian cry, Italiam quaero patriam, arose, and we know what Italy's answer has been.
VIII.
"Troppo ubbidisti e troppo sofferisti,
giovane Italia, piena d'umiltà!
Con l'insidia a ogni passo
tu crescesti nel mondo,
e ogni mano alle spalle
ti scagliava il suo sasso:
sola tra i tuoi nemici,
sola crescevi tu.
La grande ora è squillata:
mostra la tua virtú!"
I read these lines, dated September, 1914, in a recently published volume by Luigi Siciliani (1). Let me quote from two poems written at the Italian front in the early days of Italy's entry into the war. In the one, by my friend Antonio Cippico, the two Crosses—the White Cross of Savoy and the Red Cross of healing—bear the message of a new Risorgimento to the Italian cities still held in Austrian bondage:—
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