TRADITION, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue On rock and ruin darkening as we go, -- Spots where a word, ghostlike, survives to show What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have sprung; From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong, What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe. Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed By civil arts and labours of the pen, Could gentleness be scorned by those fierce Men, Who, to spread wide the reverence they claimed For patriarchal occupations, named Yon towering Peaks, "Shepherds of Etive Glen?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE TO FINE LADY WOULD-BE by BEN JONSON MODERN LOVE: 43 by GEORGE MEREDITH ECSTACY by KENNETH SLADE ALLING THE FLAME-BRIDE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO LIFE by HELEN TAPPAN BERTHOFF LOVE IS MASTER STILL by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: ANTARA by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |