 | Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy |  |
9
THE LION OF LUCERNE
Ne'er saw I, never felt such solemn breath
Of deep compassion breathed from carven stone,
Nor knew how quiet waters could atone
For sorrow by such sending from beneath
Of heart-appealing pity. In its sheath
Of flesh the spear-shaft breaks, and with a groan
The lion's head falls low, the rocks make moan,
The hollow grove is resonant with death.
Of deep compassion breathed from carven stone,
Nor knew how quiet waters could atone
For sorrow by such sending from beneath
Of heart-appealing pity. In its sheath
Of flesh the spear-shaft breaks, and with a groan
The lion's head falls low, the rocks make moan,
The hollow grove is resonant with death.
This is the meed of duty. They who die
Rather than disavow the oath they swear,
For them each year in silent woody places
Trees bend in grief—their valour fills the air,
Clear in death's silent pool we see their faces,
And on life's rock their immortality.
Rather than disavow the oath they swear,
For them each year in silent woody places
Trees bend in grief—their valour fills the air,
Clear in death's silent pool we see their faces,
And on life's rock their immortality.
| Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy | |