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Sonnet LXIV. Written At Ghent.

Alas for England, if her native hearts Were only to be won by stately towers, Or oft--recurring chime of many parts, With lively music cheating the dull hours; If only beauteous fields or lavish flowers Would win and keep the children whom she bears! Not that we lack of these, but there are ours More healing medicines for our daily cares:-- Nations have fought against the fanes they raised; For gold have bartered pomp: but where the law Builds on men's hearts,--no longer vainly praised, But with a settled and deep--rooted awe It takes possession of its children's love, And reigns, fit emblem of its source above.