In trance and dream of old, God's prophet saw br The casting down of thrones. Thou, watching lone br The hot Sardinian coast-line, hazy-hilled, br Where, fringing round Caprera's rocky zone br With foam, the slow waves gather and withdraw, br Behold'st the vision of the seer fulfilled, br And hear'st the sea-winds burdened with a sound br Of falling chains, as, one by one, unbound, br The nations lift their right hands up and swear br Their oath of freedom. From the chalk-white wall br Of England, from the black Carpathian range, br Along the Danube and the Theiss, through all br The passes of the Spanish Pyrenees, br And from the Seine's thronged banks, a murmur strange br And glad floats to thee o'er thy summer seas br On the salt wind that stirs thy whitening hair,-- br The song of freedom's bloodless victories! br Rejoice, O Garibaldi! Though thy sword br Failed at Rome's gates, and blood seemed vainly poured br Where, in Christ's name, the crowned infidel br Of France wrought murder with the arms of hell br On that sad mountain slope whose ghostly dead, br Unmindful of the gray exorcist's ban, br Walk, unappeased, the chambered Vatican, br And draw the curtains of Napoleon's bed! br God's providence is not blind, but, full of eyes, br It searches all the refuges of lies; br And in His time and way, the accursed things br Before whose evil feet thy battle-gage br Has clashed defiance from hot youth to age br Shall perish.