SONNET III. THOUGH roused by that dark Vizir Ríor rude SONNET IV. WHEN British Freedom for an happier land the doom And when Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb SONNET V. It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN ! that breathed Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams dance As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael's sword. SONNET VI. O WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there, The dirge of murdered Hope! while Freedom pale Had gathered in a mystic urn each tear Fit channel found; and she had drained the bowl SONNET VII. As when far off the warbled strains are heard And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the ray! |