| Du Bartas | |
|
Sonnet 28.
[But, O my sorrowes! whither am I tost?]
But, O my sorrowes! whither am I tost?
What? shall I bloody sweet Astræas Songs?
Re-open wounds that are now heal'd almost,
And new-remember nigh forgotten wrongs?
Sith stormes are calmed by a gentle Starre,
Forget we (Muse) all former furie-moods,
And all the tempests of our viper-Warre:
Drown we those thoughts in deep-deep Lethe floods.
O but (alas) I cannot not-retaine
So great, notorious, common miseries,
Nor hide my plaint, nor hold my weeping raine:
But 'mid these hidious hellish out-rages,
I'le showe and prooue by this strange spectacle,
Our ciuill Peace, a sacred Miracle.
| Du Bartas | |
|