And bare, at once, Captivity displayed

Stands scoffing through the never-opened gate,
Which nothing through its bars admits, save day
And tasteless food, which I have eat alone
Till its unsocial bitterness is gone;

And I can banquet like a beast of prey,

Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave

Which is my lair, and—it may be—my grave.
All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear,
But must be borne. I stoop not to despair;
For I have battled with mine agony,
And made me wings wherewith to overfly
The narrow circus of my dungeon wall,
And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall;
And revelled among men and things divine,
And poured my spirit over Palestine,

In honour of the sacred war for him,

The God who was on earth and is in heaven,

For he hath strengthened me in heart and limb. That through this sufferance I might be forgiven, I have employed my penance to record

How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored.

II.

But this is o'er-my pleasant task is done:-
My long-sustaining friend of many years!

If I do blot thy final page with tears,

Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none.
But thou, my young creation! my soul's child!
Which ever playing round me came and smiled,
And wooed me from myself with thy sweet sight,
Thou too art gone-and so is my delight:
And therefore do I weep and inly bleed
With this last bruise upon a broken reed.
Thou too art ended-what is left me now?
For I have anguish yet to bear-and how?

I know not that-but in the innate force

Of my own spirit shall be found resource.

I have not sunk, for I had no remorse,

Nor cause for such: they called me mad-and why? Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply?

I was indeed delirious in my heart

To lift my love so lofty as thou art;
But still my frenzy was not of the mind;
I knew my fault, and feel my punishment
Not less because I suffer it unbent.

That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,

Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind;

But let them go, or torture as they will,

My heart can multiply thine image still;

Successful love may sate itself

away,

The wretched are the faithful; 'tis their fate

To have all feeling save the one decay,

And every passion into one dilate,

As rapid rivers into ocean pour ;

But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.

III.

Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry
Of minds and bodies in captivity.

And hark! the lash and the increasing howl,

And the half-inarticulate blasphemy!

There be some here with worse than frenzy foul,

Some who do still goad on the o'er-laboured mind,

And dim the little light that's left behind

With needless torture, as their tyrant will

Is wound up to the lust of doing ill :

With these and with their victims am I classed,

'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have

passed;

'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close: So let it be for then I shall repose.

VOL. VI.

N

IV.

I have been patient, let me be so yet;

I had forgotten half I would forget,
But it revives-oh! would it were my lot

To be forgetful as I am forgot!

Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell
In this vast lazar-house of many woes?

Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind,
Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind;
Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows,
And each is tortured in his separate hell-
For we are crowded in our solitudes-

Many, but each divided by the wall,

Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods ;— While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call— None! save that One, the veriest wretch of all, Who was not made to be the mate of these,

Nor bound between Distraction and Disease.