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While the multitude in blindness to a far off Saviour knelt;
In thy lone and long night watches, sky above and wave below,
That he who treads profanely on the scrolls of law and creed,
Then list that manly right hand, bold ploughman of the wave!
Hold it up before our sunshine, up against our northern air-
And the tyrants of the slave land shall tremble at that sign,
TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.
BY WILLIAM WORDS WORTH.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
"" Ye build the tornbs of the Prophets."-Holy Wait. Toussaint !--- thou most unhappy man of men!
Whether the whistling rustic tends his plough Yes-pile the marble o'er him! It is well
That ye who mocked him in his long stern strise,
Wilt thou find patience ?— Yet, die not; do thou Who clamored down the bold reformer when Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
He pleaded for his captive fellow men, Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,
Who spurned him in the market-place, and sought Live and take comfort. Thou hast left behind Within thy walls, St. Tamany, to bind Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and in party chains the free and honest thought, skies,
The angel utterance of an upright mind, re's not a breathing of the common wind Well it is now that o'er his grave ye raise That will forget thee: thou hast great allies ; The stony tribute of your tardy praise, Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
For not alone that pile shall tell to Fame And love, and man's unconquerable mind. Of the brave heart beneath, but of the builders' shame.