 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
108
TELL.
O Liberty, sweet angel much malign'd,How have the sons of licence wrong'd thy name,—
What crimes, what follies of unhallowed aim
Have they not cast upon thee, too resign'd
Meek martyr, and their lawless works of shame
With thine own wreath of grand achievements twin'd!
Not thus, yon gallant mountain-patriot,
Fair Switzerland, the darling of thy fame,
Caught to his outraged heart the rescued child,
And just avenger, spared not, waver'd not,
But with dread patience dared the noble deed,
On which glad Liberty approving smiled;
For when she saw the savage Austrian bleed
She knew her own Swiss home, her temple freed.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |