Crushed by the rigors of a tyrant's power?
Saw ye the shrinking slave, the uplifted lash,
The frowning butcher, and the reddening gash?
Saw ye the fresh blood, where it bubbling broke
From purple scars, beneath the grinding stroke?
Saw ye the naked limbs writhed to and fro,
In wild contortions of convulsing woe?
Felt ye the blood, with pangs alternate rolled,
Thrill through your veins and freeze with deathlike cold,
Or fire, as down the tear of pity stole,