WHEN Alpine Vales threw forth a suppliant cry, The Majesty of England interposed And the sword stopped; the bleeding wounds were closed; And Faith preserved her ancient purity. How little boots that precedent of good, Scorned or forgotten, Thou canst testify, For England's shame, O Sister Realm! from wood, Mountain, and moor, and crowded street, where lie The headless martyrs of the Covenant, Slain by Compatriot-protestants that draw From councils senseless as intolerant Their warrant. Bodies fall by wild sword-law; But who would force the Soul, tilts with a straw Against a Champion cased in adamant. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC by JOHN DRYDEN THE BOUGH OF NONSENSE by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES RONDEL by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE ARCHEANASSA by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS IN APRIL by MARGARET LEE ASHLEY ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD DIRGE AND HYMENAL by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |