TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy man of men ! Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den; O miserable Chieftain ! Where and when Wilt thou find patience ? Yet die not, do thou Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow : Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies; There's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends and exultations, agonies And love, and man's unconquerable mind. |