Born of the social hour. Oh! I have knelt,
E’en at my brother’s feet, with fruitless tears,
Imploring him to spare. His heart is shut
Against my voice; yet will I not forsake
The cause of mercy.
Raim. Waste not thou thy prayers,
O gentle love! for them. There’s little need
For pity, though the galling chain be worn
By some few slaves the less. Let them depart!
There is a world beyond the oppressor’s reach,