English poem
Sonnet LXXXII (MUTE is thy wild harp, now,…)
by Charlotte Smith (1749–1806)
MUTE is thy wild harp, now, O Bard sublime! Who, amid Scotia's mountain solitude, Great Nature taught to "build the lofty rhyme," And even beneath the daily pressure, rude, Of labouring Poverty, thy generous blood, Fired with the love of freedom—Not subdued Wert thou by thy low fortune: But a time Like this we live in, when the abject chime Of echoing Parasite is best approved, Was not for thee—Indignantly is fled Thy noble Spirit; and no longer moved By all the ills o'er which thine heart has bled, Associate worthy of the illustrious dead, Enjoys with them "the Liberty it loved."
More by Charlotte Smith
- Sonnet LXXVII (SMALL, viewless aeronaut, that by the…)
- Sonnet LXXVIII (WAN Heralds of the Sun and…)
- Sonnet LXXX (DARK and conceal'd art thou, soft…)
- Sonnet LXXXI (HE may be envied, who with…)
- Sonnet LXXXIII (THE upland shepherd, as reclined he…)
- Sonnet LXXXIV (WILT thou forsake me who in…)
- Sonnet LXXXIX (WHETHER awaken'd from unquiet rest…)
- Sonnet LXXXV (THE fairest flowers are gone! for…)