Let any other nation of the world find men
who, like us, shall immolate themselves to liberty, and
then only may it compare itself to Italy, though she still
be a slave.
Mercantini puts his poem in the mouth of a peasant girl, and calls it
THE GLEANER OF SAPRI.
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead!
That morning I was going out to glean;
A ship in the middle of the sea was seen
A barque it was of those that go by steam,
And from its top a tricolor flag did stream.
It anchored off the isle of Ponza; then
It stopped awhile, and then it turned again
Toward this place, and here they came ashore.
They came with arms, but not on us made war.
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead!
They came in arms, but not on us made war;
But down they stooped until they kissed the shore,
And one by one I looked them in the face,--
A tear and smile in each one I could trace.
They were all thieves and robbers, their foes said.
They never took from us a loaf of bread.
I heard them utter nothing but this cry:
"We have come to die, for our dear land to die."
They were three hundred; they were young and strong,
And they are dead!
With his blue eyes and with his golden hair
There was a youth that marched before them there,
And I made bold and took him by the hand,
And "Whither goest thou, captain of this band?"
He looked at me and said: "Oh, sister mine,
I'm going to die for this dear land of thine.
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