Verse > Anthologies > T. H. Ward, ed. > The English Poets > Vol. II. Ben Jonson to Dryden
Thomas Humphry Ward, ed.  The English Poets.  1880–1918.
Vol. II. The Seventeenth Century: Ben Jonson to Dryden
Sonnets: On the Late Massacre in Piedmont
By John Milton (1608–1674)
AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter’d saints, whose bones
  Lie scatter’d on the Alpine mountains cold;
  Ev’n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
  When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groans        5
  Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
  Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that roll’d
  Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubl’d to the hills, and they
  To heaven. Their martyr’d blood and ashes sow        10
  O’er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
  A hundred fold, who, having learnt thy way,
  Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

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