O what a loud and fearful shriek was there, As though a thousand souls one death-groan poured! Ah me! they saw beneath a hireling's sword Their Koskiusko fall! Through the swart air (As pauses the tired Cossac's barbarous yell Of triumph) on the chill and midnight gale Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell The dirge of murdered Hope! while Freedom pale Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, As if from eldest time some Spirit meek Had gathered in a mystic urn each tear That ever on a Patriot's furrowed cheek Fit channel found, and she had drained the bowl In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 1. CAPTIVITY by GEOFFREY CHAUCER SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: THE HILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE GOOD OLD DAYS OF 27 B.C. by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MY MOTHER'S GARDEN by ALICE E. ALLEN YOUTH'S SONGS by MAXWELL ANDERSON |