 | The heir of the world, and lesser poems |  |
47
SONNET II.
Howl on, chained demons, howl! I yet can bearMore than your petty hatred can invent!
I never quailed at menaces nor bent
Meanly to meanness in averting prayer,
Nor ever will, though misery and despair
Crush and consume me: never have I leant
On outward aid, but suffered what was sent
In solitary silence:—if ye dare,
Howl on, hyænas! bastard brood of hell!
And let your cry be heard; I shall not shrink,
Nor fear, nor shudder, nor forbear to think
A smile fit answer to your bootless yell.
Ye howl around me as I sit in peace,
Like the bann'd Fiends blaspheming for release!
| The heir of the world, and lesser poems | |