AH! I could curse them in my woe, E'en as the viper stings, And to the heel that strikes it clings, So I could plant my blow. Yes, I could pray that fell disease Should torture them with pain -- That plague should fall in every rain, Miasma taint each breeze. That wealth should vanish, and the curse Of poverty should reign; That cries for bread should be in vain! An always empty purse. That friends should die, and every pride Should vanish in a day; 'Till even hope withdraws her ray, And naught of joys abide. Yes, I could whisper in the ear Of one who loves to tell Some fabrication, dark as hell, As scandal loves to hear. Revenge is sweet; I could invent Full many a thousand way, That would my heartfelt wrongs repay, Could they my soul content. But could I go to sleep in peace, And could I dream of heaven -- Could I e'er hope to be forgiven When death came to release? Revenge is sweet to those who live; But when we think of death -- The ebbing of this life-tide breath -- 'Tis sweeter to forgive. |