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On such a plan has a Gerald formed his intellect. ⟨Withering in the sickly⟩ and tainted gales of a prison, his ⟨healthful soul looks⟩ down from the citadel of his integrity on his impotent persecutors. I saw him in the foul and naked room of a jail—his cheek was fallow with confinement—his body was emaciated, yet his eye spoke the invincible purposes of his soul, and his voice still sounded with rapture the successes of freemen, forgetful of his own lingering martyrdom! Such too were the illustrous Triumvirate[1] whom as a Greek Poet expresses it, its not lawful for bad men even to praise. I will not say that I have abused your patience in thus indulging my feelings in these strains of unheard gratitude to men, who may seem to justify God in the creation of man. It is with pleasure that I am permitted to recite a yet unpublished tribute to their merit, the production of a man who has sacrificed all the energies of his heart and head—a splendid offering on the altar of Liberty.
To the Exiled Patriots.
Stept forth the champions in her glorious cause,
Ye who against Corruption nobly stood
For Justice, Liberty, and equal Laws.
Whilst proud Oppression's torrent swept along,
Ye who so firmly stood, so nobly fell,
Accept one ardent Briton's grateful song.
For
- ↑ Muir, Palmer, and Margarot.
