The first of the whites stands alone! A few short years, and Waterloo
came, and then the unscrupulous victor of a hundred fights fretted
out his diseased life, and cursed his angry gods, on the lonely rock
of St. Helena.
The first of the blacks died at Joux; the first of the whites at St.
Helena. Judge between them.
The following is Wordsworth’s sonnet, written during the
disappearance of Louverture.
“Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the whistling rustic tend his plough
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
Pillow’d in some deep dungeon’s earless den:
Oh, miserable Chieftain! where and when
Wilt thou find patience? Yet, die not; do thou
Wear rather, in thy bonds, a cheerful brow.
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,
Live and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
Powers that will work for thee: _air_, _earth_ and _skies_.
There’s not a breathing of the common wind
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.”