 | Poems |  |
SONNET V.
So, froward maiden, thou wilt quit for everThy country and her many-weather'd skies;
All old home-thoughts and early sympathies
Abjuring, and wilt strive, with vain endeavour,
To quench thine English spirit:—never, never,
Though herding with our natural enemies,
May'st thou do this; for thou art bound by ties
Which neither thou, nor time, nor fate can sever.
Therefore, although thy children must not claim
Freedom, the Briton's birth-right,—though the song
Of Milton be to them an idle name,
And Shakspere's wisdom vain, thou wilt not wrong
Thy country with cold scorn, nor think it shame
To weep when thoughts of home into thy bosom throng.
| Poems | |