Trembles, as, doubly terrible, at length, Drops the drawn knife. But, oh, most fearfully Of heart and violent of hand restores The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged. Then from the writhing bosom thou dost pluck The guilty secret; lips, for ages sealed, Are faithless to their dreadful trust at length, And give it up; the felon's latest breath Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime; To work his brother's ruin. Thou dost make Thy penitent victim utter to the air The dark conspiracy that strikes at life, And aims to whelm the laws; ere yet the hour Is come, and the dread sign of murder given. Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found On virtue's side; the wicked, but for thee, Had been too strong for the good; the great of earth Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud In their green pupilage, their lore half learned- God gave them at their birth, and blotted out His image. Thou dost mark them flushed with hope, As on the threshold of their vast designs Doubtful and loose they stand, and strik'st them down. Alas! I little thought that the stern power, To which thou gavest thy laborious days, Shalt not, as wont, o'erlook, is all I have A name of which the wretched shall not think As all forgive the dead. Rest, therefore, thou Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust. Now thou art not-and yet the men whose guilt Has wearied Heaven for vengeance-he who bears False witness-he who takes the orphan's bread, And robs the widow-he who spreads abroad Polluted hands in mockery of prayer, Are left to cumber earth. Shuddering I look THE MASSACRE AT SCIO. WEEP not for Scio's children slain; Though high the warm red torrent ran Yet, for each drop, an arméd man Shall rise, to free the land, or die. |