PolandReprinted without alteration in 1872, except the removal of italics in “now” among theEarly Sonnets.How long, O God, shall men be ridden down,And trampled under by the last and leastOf men? The heart of Poland hath not ceasedTo quiver, tho’ her sacred blood doth drownThe fields; and out of every smouldering townCries to Thee, lest brute Power be increased,Till that o’ergrown Barbarian in the EastTransgress his ample bound to some new crown:—Cries to thee, “Lord, how long shall these things be?How long this icyhearted MuscoviteOppress the region?” Us, O Just and Good,Forgive, who smiled when she was torn in three;Us, who stand now, when we should aid the right—A matter to be wept with tears of blood!
Reprinted without alteration in 1872, except the removal of italics in “now” among theEarly Sonnets.
How long, O God, shall men be ridden down,And trampled under by the last and leastOf men? The heart of Poland hath not ceasedTo quiver, tho’ her sacred blood doth drownThe fields; and out of every smouldering townCries to Thee, lest brute Power be increased,Till that o’ergrown Barbarian in the EastTransgress his ample bound to some new crown:—Cries to thee, “Lord, how long shall these things be?How long this icyhearted MuscoviteOppress the region?” Us, O Just and Good,Forgive, who smiled when she was torn in three;Us, who stand now, when we should aid the right—A matter to be wept with tears of blood!