VICTORY WITH US.

Gisborne Times, Volume XLIX, Issue 4816, 13 March 1918, Page 5

VICTORY WITH US.

C ADR lELLE D’ANNUNZIO CALLS TO HIS COUNTRYMEN.

i The Germans falsely declared ihat thev had taken prisoner the. great Italian poet. D’Annunzio, who is nght- : mg with his comrades on the I iav e 1 fiont. - So far from this being true, j the poet delivered the following on | passioned speech to the defenders or : bis beloved Venice. ! Soldiers! Companions!—a year ago { we sang with panting breath on Hie desperate summit of \ eliki. tno rhythm of our chant was broken only ; by the thunderbolt of battle, i To-day we stand firm here, j No longer do we stumble and stagger on the broken rocks of the CarsoOur feet are set on kindly soil. - ! Our talons are implanted in the • pure substance of the Fatherland, which is iftore vital than our fle— l itself. more dear than our very hearts, more dear than the hearts of those that are dear to us. i We stand firm here. 0 companions. Our footprints are imprinted on a shore of destiny. ; Verily. I say unto you. that this undaunted stand against the invai der is more glorious- than our tracki less advance on the mountain, infinite--lv more glorious than our whirlwind i assault on the barren hill, j Indeed, I think that Ido wrong m '■ calling to your mind the memory or a deed that has been accomplished, j for us to-day there must- be no reniemberanee of otsr dead who sleep ; yonder where* we no longer are. and ' the rememberance of the living wW remain behind us at our altars our hearts. BRAVE DEEDS OF PAST MATTER i NOTHING NOW i Nothing else matters. : All else must rest in silence. For a thousand days did we not ‘ each day raise aloft our courage, our arms, our equipment, our skill, and our numbered strength above tne i weakness of dissension, the snares of treason, and ail the mistakes and all the miseries? But it dees not matter. | There, where even the bread an ' our pockets weighed-us down, did we hoist cur cannon? Where we borne forward in the impetus of battle where men c-culd scarcelv crawl on hands and feet? ! Did we lay the pavements man roads where even The claw of the eagle had not rested? | It- does not matter. [ This angel of victory who is with | us on tluVtremendous confine has not i wings; she must not have wings, j There was a custom in olden days j according to which the wings of vieI tory were cut off so that she might j not depart from her place among j' her people. That she may not depart from us here, let us mercilessly chop ! off her wings with our axes. THE ARE NO OTHER STREAMS ! IN ITALY.

Mutilated and bleeding, let us bmd her face to face with the invader. She stands on this bank of death as our immortal prisoner, and she looks upon us with those virginal eyes of hers which have the hue of these holy waters. Perhaps there are other waters in the rest of the Fatherland to-day. Tell me of them. Is there to-day a thirst of the Italian soul which can be assuaged elsewhere? Toll me of it. Are there other streams in Italy I do not want to remember them. Nor do yon. Soldiers from tiro country, soldiers from the cities, farmers, artisians, men of every class and of every province in Italy, forget everything else for the moment and remember that . this water alone is for us the water of life, regenerating as the water of baptism. If there he a stream which flows near your home, it is of this water. If there be a brook which marks the limit of your lands, it is of this water. DEEP VEIN IN HEART OF THE FATHERLAND. If there be a fountain in your village square, it is of tbis water. It runs by your walls, before your srate?, through the streets of all the Italian cities. Ij. runs before the thresholds of all our homes, of all our altars and all our hearths. From this water alone can you quench the thirst of your women, your son, anf[ your elders. Otherwise they will perish. Otherwise there end will be ui scons option. Have you understood ? This river is the principal vein that bears our lifeblood. It is the deep vein in the heart of the Fatherland. If that vein be severed the heart will stop beating. To cleanse every drop of this water which may be sidled by the enemy each one of us is ready to give all his _ Wood. Never before, as here, were life and death so united 'into a liberating and creating power. All the light of a thousand victorious days does not equal the light of one day of resistance. We. have victory planted in this stream, and she stands with us undaunted and unshaken. Wc are certain, O soldiers, 0 defenders, that in a little while, as the leaves of spring, the new wings of victory will burst forth from the unclosed wounds, and she will fly there 'beyond, above, the foreheads of our dead who stand and wait. Thither wil] she fly to the boundaries of those sepulchres where Our heroic dead sleep; thither, beyond onr crosses of wood and iron, and still farther bevond. And that which was lost for days shall be retained for centuries.