 | Studies of Sensation and Event |  |
92
A SLAVE'S TRIUMPH.
“Death to the aristocrats!” the people roared,—
Death to my master—each man fiercely thought,—
As through the capital of France they poured,
A revolution's mob, with madness fraught:
Before a stately building paused one band;
Awhile its leader bade them there abide;
And where his Lord and his Lord's kindred stand,
He sprang and cried—
Death to my master—each man fiercely thought,—
As through the capital of France they poured,
A revolution's mob, with madness fraught:
Before a stately building paused one band;
Awhile its leader bade them there abide;
And where his Lord and his Lord's kindred stand,
He sprang and cried—
“Where is your scorn! where is the insolent eye,
Narrowing its lids to look at me; where, where,
The averted face that seemed wrenched awry,
Sick at my presence, that ye yet did bear,
Even to enslave me! seem thus sick once more!
With narrowing eyes now speak me your decree!
For beneath your palace, human tigers roar!
I hold the key!
Narrowing its lids to look at me; where, where,
The averted face that seemed wrenched awry,
Sick at my presence, that ye yet did bear,
Even to enslave me! seem thus sick once more!
With narrowing eyes now speak me your decree!
93
I hold the key!
“You merciless wretches! what! you kneel, you whine,
To smile to me, you dare! one smile again,
And the mob is rending ye:—rise, masters mine!
I'll give you a boon to see your old disdain;
To hear your words, slow, insolent, as of yore
Chuckle at the shame they knew they burned through me;
For beneath your palace, human tigers roar!
I hold the key!
To smile to me, you dare! one smile again,
And the mob is rending ye:—rise, masters mine!
I'll give you a boon to see your old disdain;
To hear your words, slow, insolent, as of yore
Chuckle at the shame they knew they burned through me;
For beneath your palace, human tigers roar!
I hold the key!
“God! how they hate me! this, this, this, is life!
Aha! white fiends! I am merciless! one hour
Ago, and ye might have slain me with the knife,
When 'neath your whips my flesh did shrink and cower!
Had ye but known, when to slay me ye forbore,
How I drank your blood, while I for life did plea!
For the tigers are starved that underneath you roar!
And I hold the key!
Aha! white fiends! I am merciless! one hour
Ago, and ye might have slain me with the knife,
When 'neath your whips my flesh did shrink and cower!
Had ye but known, when to slay me ye forbore,
How I drank your blood, while I for life did plea!
For the tigers are starved that underneath you roar!
And I hold the key!
94
“Can you not tell these avengers of my shame
How I loathe, despise them;—ye were saved, saved, saved!
The beasts have licked your feet, and again would tame!
Aha! they will sword you when this hand is waved!
They will wrench your hearts out! stumble in your gore!
Can you not speak them! beasts they are like ye!
But mine, mine, mine! for you they rage and roar!
I hold the key!
How I loathe, despise them;—ye were saved, saved, saved!
The beasts have licked your feet, and again would tame!
Aha! they will sword you when this hand is waved!
They will wrench your hearts out! stumble in your gore!
Can you not speak them! beasts they are like ye!
But mine, mine, mine! for you they rage and roar!
I hold the key!
| Studies of Sensation and Event | |