Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - XI - Saxon Conquest
Nor wants the cause the panic-striking aid Of hallelujahs tost from hill to hill For instant victory. But Heaven's high will Permits a second and a darker shade Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed, The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains: O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed like fountains; Whose arts and honours in the dust are laid By men yet scarcely conscious of a care For other monuments than those of Earth; Who, as the fields and woods have given them birth, Will build their savage fortunes only there; Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they were.
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"Nor wants the cause the panic-striking aid..."
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