Terror and death in his wild eye-balls start;
With chatt'ring teeth he stands, and stiff'ning hair,
And looks a bloodless image of despair.

Not so LOUVERTURE; dauntless, still the same,
Unchang'd his valor, and unmov'd his frame,
Compos'd his thoughts, determin'd is his eye,
And fix'd his soul to conquer or to die;
If ought disturbs the tenor of his breast,
'Tis filial love that robs his soul of rest.
LOUVERTURE now his dreadful sword prepares,
In act to strike, but first prefers his pray'rs :
"Give me, kind Jove, to punish lawless lust,
And lay this tyrant gasping in the dust;
Destroy th' aggressor, aid my righteous cause,
Avenge the breach of hospitable laws;

Let this example future times reclaim,

And guard from wrong fair virtue's holy name;
Avenge my sire, thou ruler of the skies:"
As thus he spoke, tears trinkled from his eyes.
Then with his eager sword he strikes the foe,
On his full stretch, and rises to the blow;
A peal of groans succeeds; each army bent
Their eager eyes, and wait the great event,
The wary Christian bending from the blow,
Wards off the death, and disappoints the foe.
He wav'd again his thund'ring sword, and struck
Full on the ruffian's sword....his body shook.
LOUVERTURE's steel unfaithful to his hand,
Broke short; the fragments glitter'd on the sand.
The raging warrior to the starry skies,
Rais'd his upbraiding voice, and languid eyes:
"Then is it vain in Jove himself to trust,
And is it thus that heav'n assists the just?
When wrongs provoke us, Jove success denies,

The dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies!
Pardon my grief, ah! parent of the skies,
Above the thought of man supremely wise;
If from thy hands the fates of mortals flow,
From whence this favor to an impious foe?
A bloody crew, abandon'd and unjust,
Still breathing rapine, violence and lust?
The best of things above their measure, cloy,
Sleep's balmy blessing, love's endearing joy,
The feast, the dance, whate'er mankind desire,
Ev'n the sweet warblers in our vallies, tire:
But Christians ever reap a dire delight

In thirst for money, and in lust of fight.
Curs'd gold! how high will daring Christians rise
In ev'ry guilt, to gain the fleeting prize."
Weeping he said, and tow'rds the sable crew,
Seiz'd by his belt, the panting ruffian drew;
Struggling he follow'd, while th' embroider'd thong
That ty'd his sword, drag'd the pale chief along.
As when the sov'reign eagle soars on high,
And bears some speckled serpent thro' the sky,
While his sharp talons gripe the bleeding prey,
In many a fold her curling volumes play,

Her starting brazen scales with horror rise,
The sanguine flames flash dreadful from her eyes;
She writhes, she hisses at her foe in vain,

Who wings at ease the wide ærial plain,

With her strong hooky beak the captive plies,

And bears the struggling prey triumphant thro' the skies.
Thus had his ruin crown'd LOUVERTURE'S joy,
But lo! the foes their old resource employ.
Proud LECLERC previous to the single fight,
And while the panting tyrants were in flight,
Employ'd a man, for villainy prepar'd,

Who dar'd to venture life for a reward;
To kill the prince while he dar'd him to fight-
In single fray....thus stop the shameful flight.
THOMAS was the proud cruel dastard's name,
Dead to humanity, and dead to famé ;
He watches the fierce foe with wily art,
The fav'ring moment to discharge his dart;
Where'er the filial chief his steps inclin❜d,
The wretch in silence follows close behind;
Oft shifts his place, runs anxious to and fro,
Flies round the raging prince in act to throw,
And aims his lance at the fraternal foe.
The prince drag'd on his foe all pale with fear,
When from his covert THOMAS launch'd his spear;
And as the jav❜lin sings along the skies,

All to the champion turn their eager eyes:
The prince drag'd on, regardless of the sound,
Till in his pap he felt the treach'rous wound ;.
Deep, deep infix'd the ruthless weapon stood,
Transfix'd his heart, and drank the vital blood.
Swift to his succour fly the sable train,
And in their arms their sinking chief sustain ;
But far more swift the dastard THOMAS fled,
All pale with fear, nor turn'd his guilty head;
Back he retires, oppress'd with guilty grief,

}

Nor could he bear in death to view the godlike chief.
As when a prowling wolf whose rage has slain
Some stately heifer, or the guardian swain,
Flies to the mountains with impetuous speed,
Confus'd, and conscious of the daring deed,
Claps close his quiv'ring tail between his thighs,
Ere yet the peopled country round him rise.
Not less confus'd pale THOMAS took his flight,
Shun'd ev'ry eye, and mingled in the fight.

The dying prince, with agonizing pain,
Tugs at the fatal steel, but tugs in vain.
As pierc'd at distance by the hunter's dart,
The brindled lion rouses at the smart,
And loudly roaring, traverses the plain,
Scourges his sides, and rears his horrid mane,
Tugs furious at the spear, the foe defies,
And grinds his teeth, and to the combat flies.
The prince thus tugs the dart, and tho' in pain,
His courage and his love remain the same;
While LECLERC fled, resistless as the wind,
He fled, but thought he left his life behind :
Panting and pale he rush'd towards the main,
And trembled in his wooden walls again.
So when the vulture wings her way above,
To the cleft cavern speeds the gentle dove;
Precipitate she flies, there safe retreats,

Yet still her heart against the marble beats.
Thus beats the ruffian's heart....he dreads the plain,
But more the injur'd, tho' brave sable train.
Deep rivetted within, the rankling dart

Heav'd in the prince, and panted in his heart:

He sinks, he swoons, he scarcely draws his breath,
And all around him swim the shades of death.

As full blown lilies, overcharg'd with rain,
Decline their heads, and drooping kiss the plain,
So sinks the prince....his beauteous head depress'd,
Serene, tho' languid, drops upon his breast:
The vernal splendors languish in his eyes,
The golden sun, and all the spangled skjes :
Tho' faint, he calls the partner of his care,
His friend in peace, his brother in the war.
With agonizing woe MONDINGO flies,

While big round tears stream copious from his eyes:
Not faster trickling to the plains below,
From lofty rocks the silver waters flow.
Divine LOUVERTURE with compassion mov'd,
Thus spoke indulgent to his best belov'd:
"MONDINGO, say what griefs thy bosom bears,
That flow so fast in these pathetic tears?
No girl, no infant whom the mother keeps,
From her lov'd breast with fonder passion weeps ;
Not more the mother's soul that infant warms,
Clung to her knees, or reaching out her arms,
Than thou hast mine. Oh! tell me to what end
Thy sorrows can assist thy dying friend?
To suffer is the lot of man below;

Shall Jove give blessings and dispense no woe?
His will be done; he will my cause defend,
As he has been, he'll ever be my friend.
Brother, I charge you with my latest breath,
That unreveng'd you bear LOUVERTURE's death;
Jove will avenge my wrongs; do thou forego
A thirst for veng'ance on the murd'rous foe ;
But as a friend and as a warrior fight,
Defend my sire, and conquer in my right:
That taught by great examples all may try,
Like thee to vanquish, or like me to die.
Brother be bold, thy task be first to dare
The glorious dangers of defensive war;
To lead my troops to combat at their head,
Incite the living, and supply the dead.
Brother, no more, for mortal is my wound,
A dizzy mist of darkness swims around;
The victory was mine, but ah! 'tis past,
This hour, this fatal moment, is my last.
Go, and my dying words to ZANGA bear,