Sonnet XXVIII — 28
No record tells of lance opposed to lance,
Horse charging horse, ’mid these retired domains;
Nor that their turf drank purple from the veins
Of heroes fall’n, or struggling to advance,
Till doubtful combat issued in a trance
Of victory, that struck through heart and reins,
Even to the inmost seat of mortal pains,
And lightened o’er the pallid countenance.
Yet, to the loyal and the brave, who lie
In the blank earth, neglected and forlorn,
The passing Winds memorial tribute pay;
The Torrents chaunt their praise, inspiring scorn
Of power usurp’d,—with proclamation high,
And glad acknowledgment of lawful sway.