My tyrant husband forged the tale
Which chains me in this dismal cell; My fate unknown my friends bewail
Oh! jailer, haste that fate to tell; Oh! haste my father's heart to cheer: His heart at once 't will grieve and glad To know, though kept a captive here, I am not mad, I am not mad.
He smiles in scorn, and turns the key; He quits the grate; I knelt in vain ; His glimmering lamp still, still I see — 'Tis gone! and all is gloom again. Cold, bitter cold! - No warmth! no light! Life, all thy comforts once I had; Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night, Although not mad; no, no, not mad.
"Tis sure some dream some vision vain! What! I, the child of rank and wealth, Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, Bereft of freedom, friends, and health? Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,
Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head; But 't is not mad; no, 't is not mad.
Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this,
A mother's face, a mother's tongue? She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss, Nor round her neck how fast you clung;
Nor how with her you sued to stay;
Nor how that suit your sire forbade ;
Nor how I'll drive such thoughts away! They'll make me mad, they'll make me mad
His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled!
His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone !
None ever bore a lovelier child:
And art thou now forever gone? And must I never see thee more, My pretty, pretty, pretty lad? I will be free! unbar the door! I am not mad, I am not mad.
Oh! hark! what mean those yells and cries? His chain some furious madman breaks;
He comes! I see his glaring eyes ;
Now, now, my dungeon-grate he shakes
Help! help! He's gone!
Such screams to hear, such sights to see! My brain, my brain, I know, I know,
Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare! He sees me; now, with dreadful shriek, He whirls a serpent high in air.
the reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad; Ay, laugh, ye fiends ; I feel the truth;
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well The story of our thraldom. We are slaves! The bright sun rises to his course, and lights A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam Falls on a slave; not such, as swept along By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads To crimson glory and undying fame,
But base, ignoble slaves! - slaves to a horde Of petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages;
Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great
In that strange spell-a name! Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cries out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbor, there he stands Was struck struck like a dog, by one who wore The badge of Ursini! because, forsooth, He tossed not high his ready cap in air, Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men, And suffer such dishonor? The stain away in blood?
Such shames are common. I, that speak to ye,
I have known deeper wrongs. I had a brother once, a gracious boy, Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look Of Heaven upon his face, which limners give To the beloved disciple. How I loved That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years, Brother at once and son! He left A summer bloom on his fair cheeks
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves! Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? Look To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice, Be answered by the lash! Yet, this is Rome, That sate on her seven hills,
and from her throne Yet, we are Romans. a Roman
Of beauty ruled the world! Why in that elder day to be Was greater than a King! And once again Hear me, ye walls that echoed to the tread Of either Brutus ! once again I swear The Eternal City shall be free!
THE BELL OF THE "ATLANTIC."
TOLL, toll, toll!
Thou bell by billows swung,
And, night and day, thy warning words
Repeat with mournful tongue! Toll for the queenly boat,
Wrecked on yon rocky shore! Sea-weed is in her palace halls, She rides the surge no more.
Toll for the master bold,
The high-souled and the brave, Who ruled her like a thing of life
Amid the crested wave!
Toll for the hardy crew,
Sons of the storm and blast, Who long the tyrant ocean dared; But it vanquished them at last.
Toll for the man of God,
Whose hallowed voice of prayer Rose calm above the stifled groan Of that intense despair! How precious were those tones, On that sad verge of life,
Amid the fierce and freezing storm, And the mountain billows' strife!
Toll for the lover, lost
To the summoned bridal train! Bright glows a picture on his breast, Beneath th' unfathomed main. One from her casement gazeth
Long o'er the misty sea: He cometh not, pale maiden,
His heart is cold to thee !
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