TO TOUSSAINT L’OUVERTURE
TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy 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; –
O 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.
-William Wordsworth
It is very fulfilling, if not delightful and instructive, to revisit one of the classic poems from antiquity every once in a while. Most recently it was one of the most famous sonnets from Shakespeare’s incomparable collection – the greatest collection of short poems of all time, even when one considers the formidable contender, which is John Donne’s Holy Sonnets.
