ther, many times murdered! When thou shalt waken from thy long
sleep, and again rest on the long grass of the home turf, again hear the
holy whispers of thy unhewn forests green from sea to sea, again feel
thy youth returning upon thee, thou wilt remember thy long night of
death, the terrible phantoms of thy protracted agonies. Weep not then, O
Mother! weep not for those who fell in glorious battle, nor for those
who perished on alien soil--although their flesh was torn by the vulture
and devoured by the wolf, they were still happy! Neither weep for those
who died in the dark and silent dungeon underground by the hand of the
executioner, though the dismal prison-lamp was their only star, and the
harsh words of the oppressor the last farewell they heard on earth--they
too were happy!

But drop a tear, O Mother! One tear of tender pity for those who were
deceived by thy Murderers, misled by their tissues of glittering
falsehood, blinded by misty veils woven of specious deceptions, when the
command of the tyrant had no power to tear their true hearts from thee!
Alas, Mother, these victims have suffered the most of all thy martyred
children! Deceitful hopes, born but to die, like blades of naked steel,
forever pierced their breasts! Thousands of fierce combats, unknown to
fame, were waging in their souls, combats fuller of bitter suffering
than the bloody battles thundering on in the broad light of the sun,
clashing with the gleam of steel, and booming with the roar of
artillery. No glory shone on the dim paths of thy deceived sons; thy
reproachful phantom walked ever beside them, as part of their own
shadow! The glittering eye of the enemy lured them to the steep slopes
of ice, down into the abyss of eternal snow, and at every step into the
frozen depths, their tears fell fast for thee! They waited until their
hearts withered in the misery of hope long deferred; until their hands
sank in utter weariness; until they could no longer move their emaciated
limbs in the fetters of their invisible chain; still conscious of life,
they moved as living corpses with frozen hearts--alone amidst a hating
People--alone even in the sanctuary of their own homes--alone forever on
the face of the earth!

My Mother! When thou shalt again live in thy olden glory, shed a tear
over their wretched fate, over the agony of agonies, and whisper upon
their dark and silent graves, the sublime word: PARDON!

MADAGASCAR

The 'Last Travels'