6898: Re: 6881: Fw: re Poem of William Wordsworth. 2nd febr. (fwd)

[Bob Corbett <corbetre@webster.edu>]

From: JTWitmer@aol.com

I fear there has been a mistranslation of English poet William Wordsworth's 
majestic "To Toussaint L'Ouverture."  Allow me, please, to offer the wording 
of this sonnet as it was written in 1802.

Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the whistling rustic tend his plow
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den--
O 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.  Thos 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.

Respectfully,
Judith T. Witmer