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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=512824" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet VII. To Burke</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=512824" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">As late I lay in Slumber's shadowy vale,<br>With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise,<br>I saw the sainted form of FREEDOM rise:<br>She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale.<br>'Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,<br>Ere in an evil hour with alter'd voice<br>Thou bad'st Oppression's hireling crew rejoice<br>Blasting with wizard spell my laurell'd fame.<br>Yet never, Burke! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl!<br>Thee stormy Pity, and the cherished lure<br>Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul,<br>Wildered with meteor fires. Ah, Spirit pure!<br>That error's mist had left thy purged eye:<br>So might I clasp thee with a Mother's joy!'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Samuel+Taylor+Coleridge">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</a></strong></div>

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