Did then the bold Slave rear at last the Sword br Of Vengeance? drench'd he deep its thirsty blade br In the cold bosom of his tyrant lord? br Oh! who shall blame him? thro' the midnight shade br Still o'er his tortur'd memory rush'd the thought br Of every past delight; his native grove, br Friendship's best joys, and Liberty and Love, br All lost for ever! then Remembrance wrought br His soul to madness; round his restless bed br Freedom's pale spectre stalk'd, with a stern smile br Pointing the wounds of slavery, the while br She shook her chains and hung her sullen head: br No more on Heaven he calls with fruitless breath, br But sweetens with revenge, the draught of death.