YET, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes With firmer soul, yet labour to regain Our ancient freedom; else 'twere worse than vain To gather round the bier these festal shows. A garland fashioned of the pure white rose Becomes not one whose father is a slave: Oh, bear the infant covered to his grave! These venerable mountains now enclose A people sunk in apathy and fear. If this endure, farewell, for us, all good! The awful light of heavenly innocence Will fail to illuminate the infant's bier; And guilt and shame, from which is no defence, Descend on all that issues from our blood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LULLABY by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON PHILOMELA: PHILOMELA'S ODE [THAT SHE SANG IN HER ARBOR] by ROBERT GREENE ODE TO SILENCE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY POLWART ON THE GREEN by ALLAN RAMSAY RUMORS FROM AN AEOLIAN HARP by HENRY DAVID THOREAU IN THE GOLD ROOM by OSCAR WILDE ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 3: 34. MUTABILITY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |