SONNET.
You say we love not freedom, honoured friend;
Yea, doubtless, we can lend to scheme like yours
Small love. Yet not for this—that it assures
Too much to man—this would not me offend:
But for I know that all such schemes will end
With leaving him too little,—will deprive
Of that free energy by which we live:
For of such plots the final act attend—
See them who loathed the very name of king,
Emulous in slavery, bow their souls before
The new-coined title of some meaner thing
Than ever crown of king or emperor wore;
For such in God’s and Nature’s righteousness,
The weakness which avenges all excess.
SONNET TO SILVIO PELLICO,
ON READING THE ACCOUNT OF HIS IMPRISONMENT.
Ah! who may guess, who yet was never tried
How fearful the temptation to reply
With wrong for wrong, yea fiercely to defy
In spirit, even when action is denied?
Therefore praise waits on thee, not drawn aside
By this strong lure of hell—on thee whose eye
Being formed by love, could every where descry
Love, or some workings unto love allied—
And benediction on the grace that dealt
So with thy soul—and prayer, more earnest prayer,
Intenser longing than before we felt
For all that in dark places lying are,
For captives in strange lands, for them who pine
In depth of dungeon, or in sunless mine[4].