Sonnet XVI. to Earl Stanhope
Not, Stanhope! with the Patriot’s doubtful name
I mock thy worth—Friend of the human race
Since scorning Faction’s low and partial aim,
Aloof thou wendest in thy stately pace,
Thyself redeeming from that leprous stain,
Nobility: and aye unterrified,
Pourest thine Abdiel warnings on the train
That sit complotting with rebellious pride
'Gaint her, who from the Almighty’s bosom leapt
With whirlwind arm, fierce Minister of Love!
Wherefore, ere Virtue o’er thy tomb hath wept,
Angels shall lead thee to the Throne above:
And thou from forth its clouds shall hear the voice,
Champion of Freedom and her God! rejoice!
