 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere
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XXVII.
NATIONAL APOSTACY.
Trampling a dark hill, a red sun athwart,
I saw a host that rent their clothes and hair, [glare,
And dashed their spread hands 'gainst that sunset
And cried, ‘Go from us, God, since God thou art!
Utterly from our coasts and towns depart,
Court, camp, and senate-hall, and mountain bare;
Our pomp Thou troublest, and our feast dost scare,
And with Thy temples dost confuse our mart!
Depart Thou from our hearing and our seeing:
Depart Thou from the works and ways of men;
Their laws, their thoughts, the inmost of their being:
Black Nightmare, hence! that earth may breathe again.’
‘Can God depart?’ I said. A Voice replied,
Close by—‘Not so: each Sin at heart is Decide.”
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere
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