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Sonnet 15

Rating: 2.9
XV

On The Late Massacher In Piemont

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 worship't Stocks and Stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groanes
Who were thy Sheep and in their antient Fold
Slayn by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd
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COMMENTS
Michael Walker 16 February 2020
Milton's older English diction can still appeal. He certainly feels for the saints slain by the Piedmontese. Quite a good sonnet.
1 0 Reply
Savita Tyagi 16 February 2020
that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, To Heaven.......heart breaking.....human cruelty knows no bounds.....
2 0 Reply
Ramesh T A 16 February 2020
Right wrath to avenge for slain saints written in Milton's own sonnet style is indeed great to read! Thanks for sharing this here!
1 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 16 February 2020
Slain by the Piemontese! ! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
1 0 Reply

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