Poetical works of the late F. Sayers to which have been prefixed the connected disquisitions on the rise and progress of English poetry, and on English metres, and also some biographic particulars of the author, supplied by W. Taylor |
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 | Poetical works of the late F. Sayers |  |
182
THE DYING AFRICAN.
On my toil-wither'd limbs sickly languors are shed,
And the dark mists of death o'er my eye-lids are spread;
Before my last sufferings how gladly I bend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
And the dark mists of death o'er my eye-lids are spread;
Before my last sufferings how gladly I bend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
Against the hot breezes hard struggles my breast,
Slow, slow, beats my heart, and I hasten to rest;
No longer shall anguish my faint bosom rend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
Slow, slow, beats my heart, and I hasten to rest;
No longer shall anguish my faint bosom rend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
No more shall I sink in the deep-scorching air,
No more shall sharp hunger my weak body tear,
No more on my limbs shall keen lashes descend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
No more shall sharp hunger my weak body tear,
No more on my limbs shall keen lashes descend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
Ye ruffians, who tore me from all I held dear,
Who mock'd at my wailings, and smil'd at my tear,
Now, now shall I 'scape—every torture shall end,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
Who mock'd at my wailings, and smil'd at my tear,
Now, now shall I 'scape—every torture shall end,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
| Poetical works of the late F. Sayers | |