III.

Awake, bold Bligh! the foe is at the gate! Awake! awake!----Alas! it is too late! Fiercely beside thy cot the mutineer Stands, and proclaims the reign of rage and fear. Thy limbs are bound, the bayonet at thy breast; The hands, which trembled at thy voice, arrest; Dragged o'er the deck, no more at thy command The obedient helm shall veer, the sail expand; That savage Spirit, which would lull by wrath Its desperate escape from Duty's path, 60 Glares round thee, in the scarce believing eyes Of those who fear the Chief they sacrifice: For ne'er can Man his conscience all assuage, Unless he drain the wine of Passion--Rage.