Sonnet X. to Erskine
When British Freedom for an happier land
Spread her broad wings, that fluttered with affright,
Erskine! thy voice she heard, and paused her flight
Sublime of hope! For dreadless thou didst stand
(Thy censer glowing with the hallowed flame)
An hireless Priest before th’ insulted shrine,
And at her altar poured’st the stream divine
Of unmatched eloquence. Therefore thy name
Her Sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast
With blessings heavenward breathed. And when the doom
Of Nature bids thee rise beyond the tomb,
Thy light shall shine: as sunk beneath the West
Tho’ the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.
