The Marble Landing

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They sunk a graven stone into the groundWhere first our Garibaldi's ship was moor'd,Whereon an angry record of his woundBeneath those fair memorial lines, was scor'd;At night the accusing tablet was replacedBy one, discharged of that injurious word,That pierced the general bosom like a sword,Belied their love, their common hope disgrac'd.Lie firm, thou latest-written rock! his meedOf honour should be neighbour'd by no groanOf party spleen -- perish the bitter seedIn the pure marble furrow vainly sown!Why brand with purpos'd hate a casual deedThat made our hero's noble patience known?

© Turner Charles (Tennyson)