A Tale of Villafranca

I.
My little son, my Florentine,
&nbspSit down beside my knee,
And I will tell you why the sign
&nbspOf joy which flushed our Italy
Has faded since but yesternight;
And why your Florence of delight
&nbspIs mourning as you see.

II.
A great man (who was crowned one day)
&nbspImagined a great Deed:
He shaped it out of cloud and clay,
&nbspHe touched it finely till the seed
Possessed the flower: from heart and brain
He fed it with large thoughts humane,
&nbspTo help a people’s need.

III.
He brought it out into the sun—
&nbspThey blessed it to his face:
“O great pure Deed, that hast undone
&nbspSo many bad and base!
O generous Deed, heroic Deed,
Come forth, be perfected, succeed,
&nbspDeliver by God’s grace.”

IV.
Then sovereigns, statesmen, north and south,
&nbspRose up in wrath and fear,
And cried, protesting by one mouth,
&nbsp“What monster have we here?
A great Deed at this hour of day?
A great just Deed—and not for pay?
&nbspAbsurd,—or insincere.”

V.
“And if sincere, the heavier blow
&nbspIn that case we shall bear,
For where’s our blessed ‘status quo,’
&nbspOur holy treaties, where,—
Our rights to sell a race, or buy,
Protect and pillage, occupy,
&nbspAnd civilize despair?”

VI.
Some muttered that the great Deed meant
&nbspA great pretext to sin;
And others, the pretext, so lent,
&nbspWas heinous (to begin).
Volcanic terms of “great” and “just”?
Admit such tongues of flame, the crust
&nbspOf time and law falls in.

VII.
A great Deed in this world of ours?
&nbspUnheard of the pretence is:
It threatens plainly the great Powers;
&nbspIs fatal in all senses.
A just Deed in the world?—call out
The rifles! be not slack about
&nbspThe national defences.

VIII.
And many murmured, “From this source
&nbspWhat red blood must be poured!”
And some rejoined, “’T is even worse;
&nbspWhat red tape is ignored!”
All cursed the Doer for an evil
Called here, enlarging on the Devil,—
&nbspThere, monkeying the Lord!

IX.
Some said it could not be explained,
&nbspSome, could not be excused;
And others, “Leave it unrestrained,
&nbspGehenna’s self is loosed.”
And all cried “Crush it, maim it, gag it!
Set dog-toothed lies to tear it ragged,
&nbspTruncated and traduced!”

X.
But He stood sad before the sun
&nbsp(The peoples felt their fate).
“The world is many,—I am one;
&nbspMy great Deed was too great.
God’s fruit of justice ripens slow:
Men’s souls are narrow; let them grow.
&nbspMy brothers, we must wait.”

XI.
The tale is ended, child of mine,
&nbspTurned graver at my knee.
They say your eyes, my Florentine,
&nbspAre English: it may be.
And yet I’ve marked as blue a pair
Following the doves across the square
&nbspAt Venice by the sea.

XII.
Ah child! ah child! I cannot say
&nbspA word more. You conceive
The reason now, why just to-day
&nbspWe see our Florence grieve.
Ah child, look up into the sky!
In this low world, where great Deeds die,
&nbspWhat matter if we live?