 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
319
SONNET
ON THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
Oh! what a noble nature's stamp is there!Through these commanding features—through that eye,
Shines forth a Soul, brave, generous, firm, and high—
A soul girt up to do—and steeled to bear—
Calm, principle-strengthened; free as the unchained air!
On that proud forehead throned sits Victory!
And on that countenance may we descry
All bright expressions loftiests aspects wear.
The Nation's whirlwind cry hath swelled thy name
Up to Heaven's ringing heights, re-echoing round
With wild shouts jubilant, and proud acclaim;
But there's a still small whisper, whose faint sound
To thee more precious is, I deem, than fame,
Judging from that calm mien—clear, eloquent, and profound.
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