THE CAPTIVE’S COMPLAINT.
(Inscribed to Anna.)
Hark, the chains rattle round as I turn on my side,
And the pains of captivity now are my doom;
My cell and my bed are scarcely as wide
As yon willow-tree grave I discern through the gloom.
I was borne from my home, the frail child of despair,
O’er the main I was driv’n, whose limits are wide;
The winds and the waves all augmented my care,
And the chains of injustice hung hard by my side.
The tyrant, stern grief, my little children attends,
And tears from their eyes impatiently glide;
They weep and they mourn without comforting friends,
While I in despair shake the chains by my side.
The days and the nights too slow pass away,
And death, though hard by, my pains won’t decide;
Oh! why will he pause and his purpose delay,
For the chains rattle hard which cling to my side.
The morning may dawn when the Heav’ns more kind,
May unfetter the pris’ner whose anguish is wide;
Shake those chains far away, and give ease to a mind
Grown callous by grief, and the chains of his side.
L. LE FEVRE.
Pine-street, Sept. 23, 1796.