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Charlotte Smith - Sonnet LXXXII. To The Shade Of Burns
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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."
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