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186
SONNET. III.
Ye that now wake th' old echoes that do dwellDeep 'mid Spain's ancient Hills—with clang and shout
And all War's terrible sounds, what ye are about
Have ye bethought ye solemnly and well?
Beware—lest Discord's torch, the fierce and fell,
Once kindled, scarce should for long years burn out!—
And the Land shake beneath War's din and rout,
As she were governed by some fatal spell—
Through the unborn times! Aye! lest ye should transmit
Unto your Children's Children for an age
(While that dire torch is fostered—fanned, relit)
A stern and most unhappy Heritage
Of feuds and of division—in the pit
Of fierce Contention fall'n—deep—deep—say, are ye sage?
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