rs were about to fire, he rose up and gazed for an instant around and above him: on the beautiful capital of his native land and its sail-flecked bay, on the dense crowds about him, the blue mountains in the distance, and the sky glorious with summer sunshine.
(Farewell, world!) he said calmly, and sat down.
The word was given, and five balls entered his body.
Then it was that, amidst the groans and murmurs of the horror-stricken spectators, he rose up once more, and turned his head to the shuddering soldiers, his face wearing an expression of superhuman courage.
Will no one pity me?
he said, laying his hand over his heart.
Here, fire here!
While he yet spake, two balls entered his heart, and he fell dead.
Thus perished the hero poet of Cuba.
He has not fallen in vain.
His genius and his heroic death will doubtless be regarded by his race as precious legacies.
To the great names of L'Ouverture and Petion the colored man can now add that of Juan Placido.