Proud were ye, Mountains, when, in times of old, Your patriot sons, to stem invasive war, Intrenched your brows; ye gloried in each scar: Now, for your shame, a Power, the Thirst of Gold, That rules o'er Britain like a baneful star, Wills that your peace, your beauty, shall be sold, And clear way made for her triumphal car Through the beloved retreats your arms enfold! Heard YE that Whistle? As her long-linked Train Swept onwards, did the vision cross your view? Yes, ye were startled;''"and, in balance true, Weighing the mischief with the promised gain, Mountains, and Vales, and Floods, I call on you To share the passion of a just disdain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RETIREMENT; TO MR. IZAAK WALTON by CHARLES COTTON TO HIS MISTRESS by ROBERT HERRICK A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 32 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 25 by PHILIP SIDNEY YEARS OF THE MODERN by WALT WHITMAN LOVE IN A COTTAGE by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS THE SHRINE OF VENUS by ANTIPATER OF SIDON THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: IBN KOLTHUM by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE FOURE MONARCHIES: ASSYRIAN. SEMIRAMIS by ANNE BRADSTREET |