To Toussaint L’Ouverture

By William Wordsworth

Toussaint – the most unhappy of men! –
Whether the rural milkmaid by her cow
Sing in thy hearing, or though liest now
Alone in some deep dungeon’s earless den,
Oh 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. 

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