Deploring Wright’s mysterious fate.
But dimly seen, these visions fade,
Like flitting shadows of a shade.
Thy stubborn will, when once impelled,
Its onward impulse keenly held.
Like the Eastern idol’s car it rushed,
Heedless what victims may be crushed:
Or, writhing underneath the wheel,
What tortures may those victims feel.
Ages of penitence in vain