Written after reading Trevelyan's Garibaldi
and the making of Italy
Poor foolish monarch1, vacillating, vain,
Decaying victim of a race of kings,
Swift Destiny shook out her purple wings
And caught him in their shadow; not again
Could furtive2 plotting smear3 another stain
Across his tarnished4 honour. Smoulderings
Of sacrificial fires burst their rings
And blotted5 out in smoke his lost domain6.
Bereft7 of courtiers, only with his queen,
From empty palace down to empty quay8.
No challenge screamed from hostile carabine.
A single vessel9 waited, shadowy;
All night she ploughed her solitary10 way
Beneath the stars, and through a tranquil11 sea.