 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XVI. A RUINED FRENCH ABBEY.
In thee the Daily Sacrifice hath ceased—Twain Avarchs, shades far cast from Antichrist,
Revolt, and blasphemy, Sin's king and priest,
Here slew the Just and for His raiment diced:
Here Revolution, ruin-beneficed
Sharpened with rapine's file her dagger's edge:
She sold the spoil who wrought the sacrilege:
False Freedom spake it; and her word sufficed.
O France, long dear to God, once saintly nation,
Land of Saint Louis and the Fleur de Lys
Must Italy partake thy desolation
Partaking thy transgression? Say, must she
The grace and glory of God's New Creation,
Make end like yonder skeleton tower and thee?
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |