Not always should the Tear's ambrosial dew Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow'd cheek! Not always heaven-breath'd tones of Suppliance meek Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler view, Who with proud words of dear-lov'd Freedom came -- More blasting than the mildew from the South! And kiss'd his country with Iscariot mouth (Ah! foul apostate from his Father's fame!) Then fix'd her on the Cross of deep distress, And at safe distance marks the thirsty Lance Pierce her big side! But O! if some strange trance The eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd Sister press, Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WINTER NIGHT SONG by SARA TEASDALE THE RIVULET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 23 by THOMAS CAMPION A CHILD'S PET by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES LEISURE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES I AM THE WAY' by ALICE MEYNELL A WHITE ROSE by JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY |