 | [Poems by Hayne in] The Southern Amaranth |  |
573
Sonnet.
ON THE PRESENT CONDITION OF THE SOUTH.
She lies before thee a pale, pulseless Land;No more her great eyes burn with hopeful lights;
About her worn and helmless droop her Knights,
A shattered weapon in each dead right hand:
The trumpets that aroused that warrior band
To pluck fresh honor from an hundred fights,
Seem distant now as echoes up the heights
Of fabulous Legend borne to realms unscanned;
Yet fearest thou this Queen Titan from her rest
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Her ringing battle-cry o'er mount and plain,
With Conquest blazing on her fiery crest?
Aye! SUCH thy dread! hence to all Earth's disdain,
Thy ruthless sword still gores her prostrate breast!
| [Poems by Hayne in] The Southern Amaranth | |