Dear friends! If only because it was in your company that I first
wandered over my country, how could my thoughts cease to seek you out,
my heart to desire you?
When, from the ship's deck, I saw the gulf of Naples whiten in the
distance, and clasping my hands, laughing and thinking of my mother, I
cried out, It is a dream!--when, from the summit of the Noviziate pass
my gaze for the first time embraced Messina, the straits, the
Appennines and the cape of Spartivento, and I said to myself,
half-sadly, Here Italy ends;--when, from the top of Monte Croce, beyond
the vast plain swarming with German regiments, I first beheld the
towers of Verona, and stretching out my arms, as though fearful of
their vanishing, cried out to them, Wait!--when, from the dike of
Fusina, I saw Venice, far-off, azure, fantastic, and cried with wet
eyes, Heavenly!--when Rome, surrounded by the smoke of our batteries,
first burst upon me from the height of Monterondo, and I shouted, She
is ours!--always, everywhere, one of you was beside me, to seize my arm
and cry out: How beautiful is Italy!--always one of you to mingle your
tears, your laughter and your poetry with mine!
There is not a spot of Italy, not a joyful occurrence, nor profound
emotion, which is not associated in my mind with the clank of a sword
saying, 'I am here!'--and the hand-clasp of one of you, making me pause
and wonder what has become of such an one, what he is doing and
thinking, and whether he too remembers the good days we spent together.
It may fall to my lot to meet, in the future, many faithful, dear and
generous friends, whose smiling images I already picture to myself; but
beyond their throng I shall always see your plumes waving and the
numbers glittering on your caps; I shall always hurry towards you,
crying out: Let us talk of our college days, of our travels, of war, of
soldiers, and of Italy!