Page:Elegiac Sonnets 2.pdf/64

Rh

And are there then in human form Monsters more savage than the storm, Who from the gasping sufferer tear The dripping weed?—who dare to reap The inhuman harvest of the deep, From half-drown'd victims whom the tempests spare?

Ah! yes! by avarice once possest, No pity moves the rustic breast; Callous he proves—as those who haply wait Till I (a pilgrim weary worn) To my own native land return, With legal toils to drag me to my fate!