Select Poetry.

Colonist, Volume III, Issue 280, 26 June 1860, Page 4

Select Poetry.

GARIBALDI.

He when our first cry of wrath was awaking, The pillars of Hercules passed at a flight, He heard the glad uproar of voices outbreaking, He saw that men's arms were yet weak for the fight, And cried, " Rise undaunted, and trust you to me." Garibaldi—'tis he! Fair Lombard hills, which the sunshine caresses, What sheaves of brave hearts at his bidding ye bare! Up rose old Rome, with the helm on her tresses, Full armed in the might of her heroes that were, iNew Arnold, new Brutus, to back up her plea. Garibaldi—-'tis he. Roused by his name, the old squadrons to greet him, Dashed first in file o'er the RubiconYflow. Como, Varese, unarmed, rose ,to meet him. ■ One to six thousand marched on to the foe, And whirl'd them like dust from the walls he set free. Garibaldi—'tis he! Past Montebello, away to Magenta, His is the name that can scare the great host, Even where he fights not, his form in their centre Towers, a gigantic and awe-bringing ghost, Such as the best of them shudders to see. Garibaldi—-'tis, he! Each monarch stares on his pale sceptered brother, Mute at the peril which thfejttd&sr their plan; Hark! they ask truce. Thpy^^'-'jJeafceto each-other,. Both of them dread lest the wjll of one man Set Europe a-blaze again, friends though they be. Garibaldi-—'tis he I \ Never will Austrian truces nor treaties, Drive her straight back to the Alps whence she came. Up, brave chief of Piedmont, and cry to the cities, The Tuscan, the Lombard, " Rend piecemeal for 6hame 'Ihe treacherous terms of a shameful decree I" Garibaldi—'tis he. Fostered too long the blind people's reliance Fast wanes to a close and in darkness must fall. For treachery tames the proud squadrons' defiance. There is but one name—but one man of them all The healer of Italy's death wound to be— Garibaldi—'tis he! Dall'OngAeo.