Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 1.djvu/53

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37

SONNET V.

Did then the bold Slave rear at last the Sword  Of Vengeance? drench'd he deep its thirsty bladeIn the cold bosom of his tyrant lord?  Oh! who shall blame him? thro' the midnight shadeStill o'er his tortur'd memory rush'd the thought  Of every past delight; his native grove,  Friendship's best joys, and Liberty and Love,All lost for ever! then Remembrance wroughtHis soul to madness: round his restless bed  Freedom's pale spectre stalk'd, with a stern smile  Pointing the wounds of slavery, the whileShe shook her chains and hung her sullen head:No more on Heaven he calls with fruitless breath,But sweetens with revenge, the draught of death.
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