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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539987" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Feelings Of A Noble Biscayan At One Of Those Funerals</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539987" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">YET, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes<br>With firmer soul, yet labour to regain<br>Our ancient freedom; else 'twere worse than vain<br>To gather round the bier these festal shows.<br>A garland fashioned of the pure white rose<br>Becomes not one whose father is a slave:<br>Oh, bear the infant covered to his grave!<br>These venerable mountains now enclose<br>A people sunk in apathy and fear.<br>If this endure, farewell, for us, all good! <br>The awful light of heavenly innocence<br>Will fail to illuminate the infant's bier;<br>And guilt and shame, from which is no defence,<br>Descend on all that issues from our blood.</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=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a></strong></div>

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