For some time past, says the Westminster Budget, a song called the "Inno dei Lavorttori," has been freely sold
and sung in the streets of Italy. It is a sort of "Marseillaise" of the Italian workmen, and well expresses
the discontent from which they are all suffering owing to oppressive taxation and grinding military oppression.
Within the last few weeks the singing of this song has been prohibited, and also its sale; but both still proceed
freely notwithstanding the frequent arrests
(From the Italian of TURATI. Adaption in English by ZANOBI STEFANI.)
Brothers, sisters, wives and friends,
Muster strong, your force display !
On our Freedom's flag resplends
Bright the sun of coming day !
Through dire suffering and scorn
We have pledged a sacred vow ;
See, there dawns the welcome morn !
Who shall prove a traitor now ?
Chorus.
We of labour the true worth
Must ensure as sterling right !
Through it live on this our earth.
Or die for it in the fight !
On the rice field, in the mine,
They have kept us, starved us bare !
As from herds of sheep and swine
Have they squeezed from us their fare.
Yes, these lords for whom we fought
Of our bread have robbed us ever ;
They made promises, but nought
Came of their fine words--no, never !
Curse the "capital" that finding
Ever some contrivance new
Gave them power for better grinding
Us, of whom they thus need few.
With the proper rule of Labour,
For which now we're doomed to fight,
Civil feuds will cease, and ever
Right will triumph over might.
We're but rabbles when asunder,
But united fierce can strike ;
Ours shall be the burst of thunder,
Brave in heart and soul alike.
All is sweat that streaked our brow.
We can smite and all renew.
Let our watchword be "On now"--
Far too harsh our tortures grew.
Curse the man who dares to grovel
In the midst of festive scenes.
Whilst we poor within our hovels
Friendless pine, bereft of means !
Curse the man whose eyes are dry
When he views his brothers' throes !
Curse them, too, who raise the cry
Of a truce with heartless foes ?
Let us cleave each impious bar
O'er the double hemisphere.
Foreign foes are not so far
See ye not they all are here ?
War to war's relentless rale !
Death to ruthless reign of death !
Let us smash oppression's tool
In the smell of Freedom's breath.
All ye daughter, sisters, wives,
Who our martyrdom did share,
Forced to gladden once the lives
Of our tyrants, yet so fair,
Never now smile on the throne
Of the servile recreant throng !
Smile on us, to Freedom prove--
With your love we're doubly strong.
If Equality's no yoke,
Nor Fraternity a snare ;
If to fight and rend our yoke
Be a glorious deed to dare
Then let us cry, strong and loud,
"Serfs though we poor people all,
Yet 'gainst idle lords so proud
We will fight, whate'er befall"
Notes From the Queenland Newspaper The Worker 17 Nov 1894 p. 2.
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