When Alpine Vales threw forth a suppliant cry,
The Majesty of England interposed
And the sword stopped; the bleeding wounds were closed;
And Faith preserved her ancient purity.
How little boots that precedent of good,
Scorned or forgotten, Thou canst testify,
For England’s shame, O Sister Realm! from wood,
Mountain, and moor, and crowded street, where lie
The headless martyrs of the Covenant,
Slain by Compatriot-protestants that draw
From councils senseless as intolerant
Their warrant. Bodies fall by wild sword-law;
But who would force the Soul, tilts with a straw
Against a Champion cased in adamant.
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
More by William Wordsworth
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - VIII - Acquittal Of The Bishops
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - X - Obligations Of Civil To Religious Liberty
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XI - Sacheverel
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XII - Down A Swift Stream
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XIII - Aspects Of Christianity In America
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