Poems (Chilton, 1885)/To Kossuth
TO KOSSUTH.
[DECEMBER, 1851.]
Kossuth! thine eyes first caught the early glow That streamed from Freedom's yet unrisen sun,And lit the Future's peaks—while all below Was dark as the dark earth when day is done.
That glow lit up thy soul, and meaner men Saw its reflected splendor in thine eyes,And, following thy gaze, with anxious ken Watched for the coming daybreak in the skies.
And timid hearts grew strong, as doubt by doubt Fled in the light of Freedom's morning star—Till hope's scarce-kindled flame was trodden out By the imperious footstep of the Czar.
Thy portion was a dungeon: three long years, Exiled and fettered, did the vulture CareFeed on thy Titan heart, and drink thy tears, But fail to make thy dauntless soul despair.
Three weary years—yet came the hour at last, The hour that marked thy exodus from pain,When Freedom blew aloud her trumpest-blast, Loosened thy gyves, and led thee forth again.
Illustrious Magyar! thou shalt triumph yet; The world's leagued despots are no match for thee,Hedged round by good men's prayers,and hopes thick-set— Mailed in the million wishes of the Free!