20 September
1870
Like
vultures hovering over the faithful dead
The
rank red rags of base repression hungUpon the blast-breeched walls of captive Rome;
The smoke of conquest fouled the ancient streets
While mocking conquerors marched their betters
At the point of enlightened bayonets
To the scientific future, murdering those
Who bore themselves with quiet dignity.
False,
sinister Savoy sneered in disdain
At
ancient truths, this costumed reprobateWho played at soldier once the firing ceased,
And claimed Saint Peter’s patrimony on
The corpses of the merely useful who
With this day’s slogans fresh upon their lips
At dawn advanced upon the remnant walls
So thinly held by so few Papal Zouaves
And
thus befeathered fat Vittorio
Was
given his victory by better menOn both sides there, their corpses looted by
The pallid inheritors of Progress.
The son of a Sardinian spurred his horse
Along the streets of now obedient Rome,
And to the Quirinal by a passage broad,1
And finally to the Ardeatine Caves.
1Paradise
Lost X.404
Mack Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com
No comments:
Post a Comment