 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
7
STONE-HENGE.
That there were giants in the olden timeThese stones cry out; whether before the Flood
(As some have dreamt) in earth's majestic prime,
The sons of Tubal piled up here sublime
What ever since in mystery hath stood
A miracle; or whether Merlin's rhyme,
Or patriarchal Druids, with their brood
Of swarming Celts uprear'd them,—here they stand
In Titan strength stupendous, wonderful,
The great primæval glory of our land:
And—who can tell how stained with innocent blood
This Golgotha, this place of many a skull,
Is peopled now with terrors of the past,
Poor ghosts, that howl on every driving blast?
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |