Felicia Dorothea Hemans (Фелиция Доротея Хеманз)

Sabbath Sonnet

How many blessed groups this hour are bending,
Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way
Towards spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending,
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day!
The halls from old heroic ages gray
Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low,
With those thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play,
Send out their inmates in a happy flow,
Like a freed vernal stream. I may not tread
With them those pathways, to the feverish bed
Of sickness bound; yet, O my God! I bless
Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled
My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.

1. The Child's First Grief
2. The Grave of a Poetess
3. Cœur de Lion at the Bier of His Father
4. Alaric in Italy
5. Druid Chorus on the Landing of the Romans

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1986

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