Yet, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes
With firmer soul, yet labour to regain
Our ancient freedom; else 'twere worse than vain
To gather round the bier these festal shows.
A garland fashioned of the pure white rose
Becomes not one whose father is a slave:
Oh, bear the infant covered to his grave!
These venerable mountains now enclose
A people sunk in apathy and fear.
If this endure, farewell, for us, all good!
The awful light of heavenly innocence
Will fail to illuminate the infant's bier;
And guilt and shame, from which is no defense,
Descend on all that issues from our blood.
Feelings Of A Noble Biscayan At One Of Those Funerals
William Wordsworth
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Poem topics: farewell, father, fear, freedom, innocence, light, people, rose, soul, white, good, pure, ancient, endure, grave, shame, labour, slave, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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