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Touissaint, the most unhappy Man of Men!
Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough
Within thy hearing, or Thou liest now
Buried 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 are exultations, agonies,
And love, and Man's unconquerable mind.


September 1st, 1802.

We had a fellow-Passenger who came From Calais with us, gaudy in array, — A Negro Woman like a Lady gay, Yet silent as a Woman fearing blame;Dejected, meek, yea pitiably tame, She sate, from notice turning not away, But on our proffered kindness still did lay A weight of languid speech, —or at the same Was silent, motionless in eyes and face. She was a Negro Woman driven from France, Rejected like all others of that race, Not one of whom may now find footing there;This the poor Out-cast did to us declare, Nor murmured at the unfeeling Ordinance.


Dear Fellow-traveller! here we are once more. The Cock that crows, the Smoke that curls, that sound Of Bells, — those Boys who in yon meadow-ground In white sleeved shirts are playing, — and the roar Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore, All, all are English. Oft have I looked round With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found Myself so satisfied in heart before. Europe is yet in Bonds; but let that pass, Thought for another moment. Thou art free, My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass Of England once again, and hear and see, With such a dear Companion at my side.


September, 1802.

Inland, within a hollow Vale, I stood;

And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear,

The Coast of France, the Coast of France how near!

Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood.

I shrunk, for verily the barrier flood

Was like a Lake, or River bright and fair,

A span of waters; yet what power is there!

What mightiness for evil and for good!

Even so doth God protect us if we be

Virtuous and wise Winds blow, and Waters roll,

Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity,

Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree

Spake laws to them, and said that by the Soul

Only the Nations shall be great and free.

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Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea,
One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice:
In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen Music, Liberty!
There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee
Thou fough'tst against Him; but hast vainly striven,
Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art driven,
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.
Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft:
Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left;
For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be
That mountain Floods should thunder as before,
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore,
And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!

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