O what a loud and fearful shriek was there, As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd! Ah me! they saw beneath a Hireling's sword Their KOSKIUSKO fall! Through the swart air (As pauses the tir'd Cossac's barbarous yell 5 Of Triumph) on the chill and midnight gale Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell The dirge of murder'd Hope! while Freedom pale Bends in such anguish o'er her destin'd bier, As if from eldest time some Spirit meek 10 Had gather'd in a mystic urn each tear That ever on a Patriot's furrow'd cheek Fit channel found; and she had drain'd the bowl In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul! _December_ 16, 1794. FOOTNOTES: [82:3] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, December 16, 1794: included in 1796, 1828, 1829, 1834. The Sonnet was sent to Southey in a letter dated December 17, 1794. _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 117. LINENOTES: Title] Effusion viii. 1796: Sonnet vi. 1828, 1829, 1834. [3-4] Great _Kosciusko_ 'neath an hireling's sword The warriors view'd! Hark! through the list'ning air MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1794. Great KOSCIUSKO 'neath an Hireling's sword His country view'd. Hark through the list'ning air M. C. Ah me! they view'd beneath an hireling's sword Fall'n Kosciusko! Thro' the burthened air 1796, 1828, 1829. [5] As] When M. C., MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1794. [8] The 'dirge of Murder'd Hope' MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1794. [12] That ever furrow'd a sad Patriot's cheek MS. Letter, 1794, M. C., 1796. [13-14] And she had drench'd the sorrows of the bowl E'en till she reel'd intoxicate of soul MS. Letter, 1794, M. C. And she had drain'd the sorrows of the bowl E'en till she reel'd, &c. 1796. VI[83:1] PITT Not always should the Tear's ambrosial dew Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow'd cheek! Not always heaven-breath'd tones of Suppliance meek Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler view, Who with proud words of dear-lov'd Freedom came-- 5 More blasting than the mildew from the South! And kiss'd his country with Iscariot mouth (Ah! foul apostate from his Father's fame!)[83:2] Then fix'd her on the Cross of deep distress, And at safe distance marks the thirsty Lance 10 Pierce her big side! But O! if some strange trance The eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd Sister[83:3] press, Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, 13 And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand! _December_ 23, 1794. FOOTNOTES: