Mute is thy wild harp, now, O bard sublime! Who, amid Scotia's mountain solitude, Great Nature taught to "build the lofty rhyme," And even beneath the daily pressure, rude, Of labouring Poverty, thy generous blood, Fired with the love of freedom -- Not subdued Wert thou by thy low fortune: But a time Like this we live in, when the abject chime Of echoing Parasite is best approved, Was not for thee -- Indignantly is fled Thy Noble Spirit; and no longer moved By all the ills o'er which thine heart has bled, Associate worthy of the illustrious dead, Enjoys with them "the Liberty it Loved." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK THE COURTSHIP OF THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO by EDWARD LEAR SONNET: 97 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SONNET FROM JAPAN: 2. THE SHRINE OF THE PILGRIM SANDALS by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER |