Robespiere’s Lament

SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION.

Alas! and am I then undone?
Life's mad career will soon be run;
For ere to--morrow's setting sun,
This throbbing pulse must cease.
My country's scourge!--my country's shame!
Justice, arous'd, my life doth claim--
Ages unborn shall curse his name,
Who dares not hope for peace!

Ambition's woe--devoted slave,
Foe to the virtuous and the brave;
I sink unpitied to the grave,
And shrink at death's dark gloom.
Ye tyrants of each distant state,
Ah! tremble, when you hear my fate!
Lest justice that doth me await,
Should bring you to the tomb!

In vain this guilty soul would rest;
Pangs, worse than Hell, disturb my breast!
I hear torn Gallia's sons, oppress'd,
Vent curses on my head:
I see each murder'd patriot stand,
Array'd in blood by my command;
While banish'd from their native land,
What thousands beg for bread!

Earth holds not such a wretch as I!
From guilt where can the villain fly,
Who must not live, who fears to die?
--Avenging fiends I see!
Thou Pow'r, whom oft I mock'd with scorn,
Tho' by foul crimes this bosom's torn,
O hear a helpless sinner mourn!
Who, trembling, bends to thee!