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57

IX. SONNET. On the dismemberment of Poland, and the events of 1793.

Of spirit valiant, weak of outward frame,
Too weak to bear the boisterous din of men,
I'll hide me in some solitary glen,
Where never vice unveil'd her scenes of shame.
Riot and war the maddening world inflame:
Unblushing tyranny deserts his den—
Come, sweet concealment! shroud me from his ken,
Nor let his bloody record boast my name!
Ye thoughts for others' weal that vainly pined,
Ye faded cheeks with deadly paleness spread,
Eyes, whose cold languor speaks a sorrowing mind,
Declare, how oft my heart profusely bled,
When kingly ruffians triumph'd o'er mankind,
And british vengeance—british honor—fled!