What! _you_ whip rascals?-_you_, whose gutter blood
Bears, in its dark, dishonorable flood,
Enough of prison-birds' prolific germs
To serve a whole eternity of terms?
_You_, for whose back the rods and cudgels strove
Ere yet the ax had hewn them from the grove?
_You_, the De Young whose splendor bright and brave
Is phosphorescence from another's grave
Till now unknown, by any chance or luck,
Even to the hearts at which you, feebly struck?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem