 | A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems |  |
170
SONNET
TO THE SAME ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
But if the love of poesy be fled
From the fair island that gave Milton birth;
If Traffic's din, or Fashion's heartless mirth,
Have made their followers to its glories dead;—
Oh! let not those whose spirits have been fed
On its pure manna, by their household hearth
Publish the fact, and over sea and earth
Of our apostacy the tidings spread!
Still let the bard, if all beside forget
The Muses' charms, proclaim their peerless beauty,
Assert their rights, and do a minstrel's duty;
Lest, when the lingering star of song be set,
His ear should hear a voice, with vain regret,
Utter the mournful language, “Et tu Brute!”
| A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems | |