1. Note 1, page 18. The reader may, perhaps, call to mind the beautiful sonnet of William Wordsworth, addressed to Toussaint L'Ouverture, during his confinement in France.

" Toussaint! — thou most unhappy man of men!

Whether the whistling rustic tends his plough

Within thy hearing, or thou liest now

Buried 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."

[ return to text ]