Poem by William Wordsworth

To Toussaint L'Ouverture

Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den; -
Î miserable Chieftain! where and when
Wilt thou find patience! Yet die not; do thou
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;
There's not a breathing of the common wind
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

1. Monastery of Old Bangor
2. Processions
3. On Revisiting Dunolly Castle
4. For the Spot Where the Hermitage Stood on St. Herbert’s Island, Derwent Water
5. Roman Antiquities

Print

3945 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version