Lead out the pageant: sad and slow,
As fits an universal woe,

Let the long long procession go,

And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow,
And let the mournful martial music blow;
The last great Englishman is low.

IV

Mourn, for to us he seems the last,
Remembering all his greatness in the Past.
No more in soldier fashion will he greet
With lifted hand the gazer in the street.
O friends, our chief state-oracle is mute:
Mourn for the man of long-enduring blood,
The statesman-warrior, moderate, resolute,
Whole in himself, a common good.
Mourn for the man of amplest influence,
Yet clearest of ambitious crime,
Our greatest yet with least pretence,
Great in council and great in war,
Foremost captain of his time,
Rich in saving common-sense,
And, as the greatest only are,

In his simplicity sublime.

O good grey head which all men knew,

O voice from which their omens all men drew,

O iron nerve to true occasion true,

O fall'n at length that tower of strength

20

309

Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew!
Such was he whom we deplore.

The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er.

40

The great World-victor's victor (1) will be seen no

more.

(1) Il gran vincitore del vincitore del mondo, cioè Wellington che sconfisse Napoleone I a Waterloo.

Letture Inglesi.

Vol. III.

21

All is over and done:

Render thanks to the Giver,
England, for thy son.

Let the bell be toll'd.

Render thanks to the Giver,
And render him to the mould.
Under the cross of gold

That shines over city and river,
There he shall rest for ever
Among the wise and the bold.
Let the bell be toll'd:

And a reverent people behold

The towering car, the sable steeds:

Bright let it be with his blazon'd deeds,
Dark in its funeral fold.

50

Let the bell be toll'd:

And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll'd;

And the sound of the sorrowing anthem roll'd

60

Thro' the dome of the golden cross;

And the volleying cannon thunder his loss;
He knew their voices of old.

For many a time in many a clime

His captain's-ear has heard them boom
Bellowing victory, bellowing doom;

When he with those deep voices wrought,

Guarding realms and kings from shame;

With those deep voices our dead captain taught

The tyrant, and asserts his claim

In that dread sound to the great name (1),

Which he has worn so pure of blame,

In praise and in dispraise the same,

A man of well attemper'd frame.

O civic muse, to such a name,
To such a name for ages long, .

To such a name,

Preserve a broad approach of fame,

And ever-ringing avenues of song.

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(1) Con quelle voci profonde (cioè col rombo dei cannoni) il nostro duce morto insegnava al tiranno, e in questo suono formidabile (ossia con la stessa voce del cannone) egli afferma il proprio diritto al grau

VI

Who is he that cometh, like an honour'd guest,

80

With banner and with music, with soldier and with

priest,

With a nation weeping, and breaking on my

rest?

Mighty seaman, this is he

Was great by land as thou by sea (1).

Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,

The greatest sailor since our world began..
Now, to the roll of muffled drums,

To thee the greatest soldier comes;
For this is he

Was great by land as thou by sea;
His foes were thine; he kept us free;
O give him welcome, this is he,
Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
And worthy to be laid by thee;
For this is England's greatest son,
He that gain'd a hundred fights,
Nor ever lost an English gun;
This is he that far away

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Against the myriads of Assaye (2)
Clash'd with his fiery few and won;
And underneath another sun,

100

Warring on a later day,

Round affrighted Lisbon drew
The treble works, the vast designs
Of his labour'd rampart-lines,

(1) Il poeta immagina che Nelson, morto a Trafalgar e sepolto nella cattedrale di S. Paolo nel 1805, destandosi nel suo sepolcro il giorno del seppellimento di Wellington (18 novembre 1852), chieda: «Chi è che viene, quale ospite onorato, con bandiera e con musica, con soldati e con preti, con una intera nazione in lagrime, ed interrompe il mio sonno?» Il poeta risponde a Nelson:

O possente marinaio, questi è colui che per terra fu grande quanto fosti grande tu per mare » cioè fu generale tanto grande quanto fosti tu grande ammiraglio.

(2) Accenna alle vittorie di Wellington nell'India, come nei versi seguenti a quelle nella Spagna.

Where he greatly stood at bay,
Whence he issued forth anew,
And ever great and greater grew,
Beating from the wasted vines
Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
Till o'er the hills her eagles flew
Past the Pyrenean pines,
Follow'd up in valley and glen
With blare of bugle, clamour of men,
Roll of cannon and clash of arms,
And England pouring on her foes.
Such a war had such a close.

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Again their ravening eagle rose (1)

In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,
And barking for the thrones of kings;

120

Till one that sought but Duty's iron crown (2)

On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down;
A day of onsets of despair!

Dash'd on every rocky square

Their surging charges foam'd themselves away;
Last, the Prussian trumpet blew;

Thro' the long-tormented air

Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray,

And down we swept and charged and over

threw.

So great a soldier taught us there,

What long-enduring hearts could do

In that world's earthquake, Waterloo!

Mighty seaman, tender and true,

And pure as he from taint of craven guile,

O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,

O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,

If aught of things that here befall

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Touch a spirit among things divine,

If love of country move thee there at all,

140

Be glad, because his bones are laid by thine!

(1) L'aquila rapace che di nuovo balzò su iraconda è Napoleone.

«

(2) Finchè uno che cercava soltanto la ferrea corona del Dovere » ossia Wellington. I versi che seguono alludono alla battaglia di Waterloo che viene infine nominata nel verso 133.

And thro' the centuries let a people's voice

In full acclaim,

A people's voice,

The proof and echo of all human fame,

A people's voice, when they rejoice

At civic revel and pomp and game,

Attest their great commander's claim

With honour. honour, honour, honour to him,
Eternal honour to his name.

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VII

A people's voice! we are a people yet.
Tho' all men else their nobler dreams forget,
Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers;
Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set
His Saxon in blown seas and storming showers,
We have a voice, with which to pay the debt
Of boundless love and reverence and regret
To those great men who fought, and kept it ours (1).
And keep it ours, O God, from brute control;
O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul
Of Europe, keep our noble England whole,
And save the one true seed of freedom sown
Betwixt a people and their ancient throne,
That sober freedom out of which there springs
Our loyal passion for our temperate kings;
For, saving that, ye help to save mankind
Till public wrong be crumbled into dust,

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And drill the raw world for the march of mind,
Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just (2).

(1) Anche se tutto il resto dell'umanità, avendo il cervello confuso da plebi sventate e da Governi senza leggi, abbia a dimenticare i suoi più nobili sogni, noi (inglesi), grazie a Lui (cioè a Dio) che ci confinò in questa isola e duramente collocò il suo (devoto popolo) sassone in mezzo ai mari che si gonfiano ed ai nembi tempestosi, noi possediamo una voce con la quale poter pagare il debito di sterminato amore, di riverenza e di rimpianto a quei grandi uomini che combatteroro e ce la (cioè la voce) conservarono.

(2) Perocchè, salvando quella cioè la verace semenza di libertà), voi (o uomini di Stato inglesi) aiutate (provvedete) a salvar l'umanità finchè le pubbliche ingiustizie si sgretolino in polvere, ed insegnate al mondo ancora inesperto, (quasi a recluta), gli esercizi per la marcia della mente, finchè le folle diventino finalmente sane e giuste le corone.