Effusion 8, to Kosciusco

WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there, As tho' a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd! Ah me! they view'd beneath an hireling's sword Fall'n KOSKIUSKO! Thro' the burthen'd air (As pauses the tir'd Cossac's barb'rous yell 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 Had gather'd in a mystic urn each tear That ever furrow'd a sad Patriot's cheek; And she had drain'd the sorrows of the bowl Ev'n till she reel'd, intoxicate of soul!