Time and Nemesis will do that which I would not, were it in my power remote or immediate. You will smile at this piece of prophecy - do so, but recol… - Lord Byron

Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be

The seventh day, and no wind — the burning sun
Blister’d and scorch’d, and, stagnant on the sea,
They lay like carcasses; and hope was none,
Save in the breeze that came not; savagely
They glared upon each other — all was done,
Water, and wine, and food, — and you might see
The longings of the cannibal arise
(Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.

At length one whisper’d his companion, who
Whisper’d another, and thus it went round,
And then into a hoarser murmur grew,
An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound;
And when his comrade’s thought each sufferer knew,
’Twas but his own, suppress’d till now, he found:
And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood,
And who should die to be his fellow’s food.

But ere they came to this, they that day shared
Some leathern caps, and what remain’d of shoes;
And then they look’d around them and despair’d,
And none to be the sacrifice would choose;
At length the lots were torn up, and prepared,
But of materials that much shock the Muse — Having no paper, for the want of better,
They took by force from Juan Julia’s letter.

The lots were made, and mark’d, and mix’d, and handed,
In silent horror, and their distribution
Lull’d even the savage hunger which demanded,
Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution;
None in particular had sought or plann’d it,
’Twas nature gnaw’d them to this resolution,
By which none were permitted to be neuter — And the lot fell on Juan’s luckless tutor.

He but requested to be bled to death:
The surgeon had his instruments, and bled
Pedrillo, and so gently ebb’d his breath,
You hardly could perceive when he was dead.
He died as born, a Catholic in faith,
Like most in the belief in which they’re bred,
And first a little crucifix he kiss’d,
And then held out his jugular and wrist.

The surgeon, as there was no other fee,
Had his first choice of morsels for his pains;
But being thirstiest at the moment, he
Preferr’d a draught from the fast-flowing veins:
Part was divided, part thrown in the sea,
A

Oh, God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood.