| |
| BEND from that heaven, whose visioned glories gave, | |
| Thou blind old bard, the splendor of thy song, | |
| And give the godlike words which mortals crave, | |
| To speak, exulting, o’er the fallen wrong! | |
| For lo! the avenger of that hour of blood | 5 |
| Has heard at last thy summons, stern and grand,— | |
| Has freed the children of the slaughtered brood, | |
| In the cold Alpine land! | |
| |
| O, at the tardy word, whose thunder broke | |
| The chains of ages from that suffering flock, | 10 |
| Methinks the mountain’s giant soul awoke, | |
| And thrilled beneath the eternal ribs of rock! | |
| The ancient glaciers brightened in the sky; | |
| Beneath them, shouting, burst the jubilant rills, | |
| And the white Alps of Piedmont made reply | 15 |
| To the free Vaudois hills! | |
| |
| And far below, in the green pasture-vales, | |
| The Waldense shepherd knelt upon the sod, | |
| While chapel-bells chimed on the mountain gales | |
| And every châlet sent its hymn to God! | 20 |
| Matron and sire, and sweet-voiced peasant-maid, | |
| And the strong hunter from the steeps of snow, | |
| Looked up to Him, whose help their fathers prayed, | |
| Through years of blood and woe. | |
| |
| Build now the sepulchres of martyrs old: | 25 |
| Gather the scattered bones from every glen | |
| Where the red waves of pitiless slaughter rolled, | |
| When fell those brave and steadfast-hearted men! | |
| Piedmont is free! and brightening with the years, | |
| Shall Freedom’s sun upon her mountains shine; | 30 |
| While her proud children say, with joyous tears, | |
| “The glory, Lord, be thine!” | |
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