Classic Poem

SONNET V.

Did then the Negro rear at last the sword
Of vengeance? Did he plunge its thirsty blade
In the hard heart of his inhuman lord?
Oh, who shall blame him? in the midnight shall
There came on him the intolerable thought
Of every past delight; his native grove,
Friendship's best joys, and liberty and love,
Forever lost. Such recollections wrought
His brain to madness. Wherefore should he
Longer with abject patience to endure
His wrongs and wretchedness, when hope can go
No consolation, time can bring no cure?
But justice for himself he yet could take,
And life is then well given for vengeance sake.