TO THE MANES OF FIELD MARSHAL HAYNAU 395
Of helpless women, since oven now, poor slave.
Thy master hath forgotten thee, nor lacks Thousands of unhanged rogues, that wait his grace From their unblushing ranks to fill thy place ?
Yet do I take no pleasure in ihy fall.
Except for this — that in thy chastisement
I see that the great laws which govern all Are not diverted from their wise intent.
I reverence them, not that they punished thee,
But that their force protects humanity.
And, though I seem to join the savage rout Of brewers, butchers, draymen, and the others
Who plucked thee by the nose and beard about, 'Tis not that the law-breakers are my brothers.
Nor that I thirst for blood ; but I rejoice
That Freedom dares on earth to lift her voice.
Death strikes in kindness when he smites the hand Uplifted 'gainst the poor and the oppressed ;
Hunted by all mankind, henceforth what land
Had sheltered ? None ; earth had for thee no rest.
Nor can I deem them cruel, I confess,
Who feel small mercy for the merciless.
But why reproach thee ? It was scarce thy crime
That tyranny had taught thee to obey. And cramped thee to the custom of the time ;
The proverb saith, " Each dog must have his day ; " And, ere she reach perfection, the young earth Is doomed to teem with many a monstrous birth.
I wish no worse to despots and their brood Than that they perish lastly v.-ithout pain ;
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