The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys Late Minister Plenipotentiary from the United States of America to the Court of Madrid |
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 | The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys |  |
What mortal terrors all my senses seize,
Possess my heart, and life's warm current freeze?
Why grow my eyes with thick suffusions dim?
What visionary forms before me swim?
Where am I? Heav'ns! what mean these dol'rous cries?
And what these horrid scenes that round me rise?
Heard ye the groans, those messengers of pain?
Heard ye the clanking of the captive's chain?
Heard ye your free-born sons their fate deplore,
Pale in their chains and lab'ring at the oar?
Saw ye the dungeon, in whose blackest cell,
That house of woe, your friends, your children dwell?
Or saw ye those, who dread the tort'ring hour,
Crush'd by the rigours of a tyrant's pow'r?
Saw ye the shrinking slave, th' uplifted lash,
The frowning butcher, and the redd'ning gash?
Saw ye the fresh blood where it bubbling broke,
From purple scars, beneath the grinding stroke?
Saw ye the naked limbs writh'd to and fro,
In wild contortions of convulsing woe?
Felt ye the blood, with pangs alternate roll'd,
Thrill through your veins and freeze with death-like cold,
Or fire, as down the tear of pity stole,
Your manly breasts, and harrow up the soul!
Possess my heart, and life's warm current freeze?
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What visionary forms before me swim?
Where am I? Heav'ns! what mean these dol'rous cries?
And what these horrid scenes that round me rise?
Heard ye the groans, those messengers of pain?
Heard ye the clanking of the captive's chain?
Heard ye your free-born sons their fate deplore,
Pale in their chains and lab'ring at the oar?
Saw ye the dungeon, in whose blackest cell,
That house of woe, your friends, your children dwell?
Or saw ye those, who dread the tort'ring hour,
Crush'd by the rigours of a tyrant's pow'r?
Saw ye the shrinking slave, th' uplifted lash,
The frowning butcher, and the redd'ning gash?
Saw ye the fresh blood where it bubbling broke,
From purple scars, beneath the grinding stroke?
Saw ye the naked limbs writh'd to and fro,
In wild contortions of convulsing woe?
Felt ye the blood, with pangs alternate roll'd,
Thrill through your veins and freeze with death-like cold,
Or fire, as down the tear of pity stole,
Your manly breasts, and harrow up the soul!
| The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys | |