Sonnet XIII. to La Fayette
As when far off the warbled strains are heard
That soar on Morning’s wing the vales among,
Within his cage th’ imprisoned matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,
No Father’s joy, no Lover’s bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight—
His Fellows’ freedom soothes the Captive’s cares!
Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice
Life’s better Sun from that long wintry night,
Thus in thy Country’s triumphs shalt rejoice
And mock with raptures high the dungeon’s might:
For lo! the morning struggles into day,
And Slavery’s spectres shriek and vanish from the ray!
