From thy Cloud and his Dream
Long the glory is gone,
And the dungeon remains
To each desolate one:
And as vainly as thine would his spirit up-spring,
Beating against his prison-bar with faint and baffled wing.
SONNET.—TO DENMARK.
Again the trumpet-blast of war is blown:
Again the cannon booms along the sea.
Now, may the God of Battles stand by thee,