University of Virginia Library

The slave hath said who saw him die,—
That not for worlds would he again
View the last look of such an eye:—
It glancing spoke of inward pain,—
Of faded hope—of baffled hate,—
Which blood would glad, and nought but death could sate.
And might he once but live again,
The same dread deeds so dared of late,
Again he'd venture for his mate;—
And sorrow—love—revenge would wait,
To lead him on, yet lead in vain.
The slave hath said,—while life was leaving
In dark red streams his mangled breast,
The causes of his death,—his grieving,
Upon his thoughts tumultuous prest.
He dash'd his arm upon the floor,
So wet, so stain'd with his own gore;
He writhed his body,—struck his wound,
And scatter'd wide the blood around;—
But towards the last his strength grew tame,
And languor mark'd a weaken'd frame;—
His thoughts,—his love were still the same;—
While dying, lovely Safie's name
In murmurs from his pale lips past;
One groan he utter'd:—'twas his last!
Yet still upon his pallid face,
Revenge the vassal's eye could trace,—
Which living feelings first imprest,—
Which Death had fix'd with his cold touch;—
And oh! that faded front exprest
Of unextinguished hate so much,
The slave could scarce believe that such
Was the last look of one at rest!