Sonnets on the War :: :: University of Virginia Library

Freedom was driven forth by tawny Cain;
Since then the outcast hath not laid her head
In royal palace or in labourer's shed,
But wrapt-up in her sorrow and her pain,
Afar she wanders roofless as the rain,
Homeless as wind. She sighed on English downs;
We see her footsteps on the Scottish waste
In martyrs' graves. Weary, she crossed the wave,
And heard with trembling limbs and heart in haste,
The blood-hounds baying from her secret cave.
She wept in the red light of burning towns,
O'er murdered Poland, and now, wild as Fear,
And trembling with rare hope, she leans to hear
If Hungry stirs within her bloody grave.