DIAZ
Shed roses through the soft Italian air,
And strew his way with flowers! with laurel crown!
Hunter, who brought the Imperial Eagle down,
Flapping to death o'er Alpine summits bare,
And in the towering passes slew him there—
The Austrian! with death and havoc thrown
From shell-ploughed plain and violated town,
Back from the isles of Venice to despair!
Again the Mincio breathes the wind of fame,
And with the proud Piave rears a crest
Of victory in flood! sound, Rome, his name,
Diaz! and to the festal world proclaim
Italia Madre, clasping to her breast,
Redeemed, Dalmatia, Pola and Trieste!
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