Oh he is worn with toil! the big drops run Down his dark cheek; hold -- hold thy merciless hand, Pale tyrant! for beneath thy hard command O'erwearied Nature sinks. The scorching sun, As pitiless as proud prosperity, Darts on him his full beams; gasping he lies Arraigning with his looks the patient skies, While that inhuman trader lifts on high The mangling scourge. Oh ye who at your ease Sip the blood-sweetened beverage! thoughts like these Hap'ly ye scorn: I thank thee Gracious God! That I do feel upon my cheek the glow Of indignation, when beneath the rod A sable brother writhes in silent woe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OZYMANDIAS REVISITED by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP BEFORE MARCHING, AND AFTER (IN MEMORIAM F.W.G.) by THOMAS HARDY AFTER THE BATTLE (OF AUGHRIM) by THOMAS MOORE A DIRGE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 7 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER (DEDICATED TO MISS ELLA F. KENNEDY) by SARA S. BASHEFKIN THE TRUCE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |