| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | IV. To Kosciusko | | By James Henry Leigh Hunt (17841859) |
| | (Who never fought either for Bonaparte or the Allies) |
| T IS like thy patient valor thus to keep, | |
| Great Kosciusko, to the rural shade, | |
| While Freedoms ill-found amulet still is made | |
| Pretence for old aggression, and a heap | |
| Of selfish mockeries. There, as in the sweep | 5 |
| Of stormier fields, thou earnest with thy blade, | |
| Transformed, not inly altered, to the spade, | |
| Thy never yielding right to a calm sleep. | |
| There came a wanderer, borne from land to land | |
| Upon a couch, pale, many-wounded, mild, | 10 |
| His brow with patient pain dulcetly sour. | |
| Men stooped with awful sweetness on his hand, | |
| And kissed it; and collected Virtue smiled, | |
| To think how sovereign her enduring hour. | | | |
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