Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/255

Rh

He watched each dark face that appeared, And saw each heart with gold was seared, Then roused his spirit's energy, And stood prepared in pride to die! He cast one look upon his lyre— He felt his heart and hand on fire, And prayed the slaves to let him pour His spirit in its song once more! He sung,—the notes at first were low, Like the whispers of love, or the breathings of woe: The waters were hushed, and the winds were stay'd, As he sang his farewell to his Lesbian maid! Even his murderers paused and wept, But looked on the gold and their purpose kept. More proudly he swept the chords along, 'Twas the stirring burst of a battle song—