Zara, Zara holy, Zara the invincible, this is a message wrapped in the flag of Italy.
Here's the good news that aspects, here the word invoked by your passion.
The first time you fly on the wings of the Italian armed wings at war, wings of our war games from the other side, came to you above the Adriatic Sea, above your island and your channels, to bring you the comfort of the homeland, to tell you today that you're not alone, most are not abandoned, and as Trento and Trieste're all living in the heart of new 'Italy. We have appeared in your sky to proclaim that the day on December 1 in Rome, in the solemn national assembly was declared the firm intention to redeem all the people of our race who for many years supporting an unequal struggle against the insidious and stubborn work of continued oppression and suppression by the Austrian Government.
About more than you were courageous and steady, confident and desperate, in the struggle of every day? We know. We remind you there. The people of Zara, alone against all, neglected by his mother and without complaint against the mother, has saved the Italian town, has preserved the figure of our most ancient dignity. Dalmatian ancestry from Latin barbarian unjustly invaded and usurped imperial favor with the people of Zara saved and confirmed the glorious Italian municipality, has maintained his fist in the ferment of our most ancient freedoms.
There is very high praise for you, there is no crown clear enough for you, for the reward of your deeds. These words that you throw should be a song because the song is just worthy to approach your virtue and your martyrdom.
On the day of the dead, in that great of Rome and Aquileia full of Christ, from whence you came translatio Crisogono the body of your old patron, certain statements to the kneeling soldiers in the verses of a new psalm .
said Italy's powerful voice in the psalm:
'My city all of my language, all the banks of my remains. Mando signs and wonders among them.
But Zara is the strength of my heart; on the Porta Marina is my faith, and in Santa Anastasia burns my vote. Cry, or Door! Rust, or the City, with your Lions!
I will give you the morning star. To you I come, and below the table of your altar will draw your banners. I'll explain them in the east wind. O sea, I make my death or my ships. Give the glory.
And then heard a voice from above was without meat, he said: - Blessed are the dead. - It was heard a voice announce: - Blessed are those who will die for you.
The soldiers were crying knelt in the cool graves veins Rand Roman tombs. It was near Trieste, so that we seemed to feel his breath is painful to pass the Gulf and breathe in our burial sod. But at that point you, sister lion, you were even closer to you, that you did not hear the thunder of our mortars, you did not see that our long bar on the night of fire pushed ever forward, perhaps not guess as to the lies Croatian the momentum of our conquest.
Now you know that you fought for you and you win. The Soca has again become a beautiful river in Italy. Gorizia has already lost PEL enemy. Karst and for the enemy hell with no escape.
Your old people "holy Intrada he called the entrance of the magistrates of Venice. Now wait for an entry with certainty that most holy of our King, a true soldier of the king, and among the very first troops. Your women can sew the flag in secret, as they did on the eve of the day Vis. Other force, another will, another destiny. That flag waving in the wind of spring fortune, along with the banners of St. Mark unearthed.
We come from Venice. We left at dawn from the Venice that you look like. While in flight breathe your very soul that is arched over your walls your Venetian sky, while we go down to you to look better, to better recognize your face in the mother's face, our companions lead votive wreaths to your image of stone carved into the base of Santa Maria del Giglio, where he sleeps that Duodo who commanded the victorious galleys next six to fourteen in the waters of your Lepanto. And our other friends the same hour suspend a wreath at the grave of a Bronze Your son died of anguish for your pain, the tomb of the Roman Arturo Colautti "prophet and martyr of the people Dalmatian undaunted uncorrupted," promises "the next shift exile's body home to the beach, back in the grace of Rome. "
If you suffer so much that the body was preserved by virtue of a miracle, thou let him recognize the scars from the Austrian saber suddenly cut off in an ambush at night, seven to one, to punish him for having forced the powerful brand of contempt on his mug of cowards.
O Zara, you're still where you were for Antonio Barbaro carved in bas-relief of Santa Maria del Giglio, like the wing of a war like ours, well built, a wing of Italy to the sea, or Zara Nicholas Trigari, Zara Louise Ziliotto, rock of faith, the banners in your Cathedral consecrated buried under the term of the Resurrection, for 1'arco Romano Reinforcing your Porta Marina, the three apses of which seems to be your San Crisogono angels Tuscan Old Riva delivered to your in Lucca, for the true of your five wells where the shadow of Alvise Grimani still drinking, for the ark of your royal speech in San Simeon silver by the Lombard master, for all your grace Venetian, for all your Italian beauty, believe in the promise , believe in the joy of the second spring, when the bloom of the Corinthian acanthus your column and your Latin Leoni above your door quivered on the 'holy entrance. "
would live up to that day and be worthy to sing your coronation today from those who heard the roar beat faster your great heart of heroin.
In the sky of the Homeland, December 23, 1915 .
GABRIELE D 'Annunzio
0 comments:
Post a Comment