My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave, But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave? Perchance in such a cell we suffer more Than the wrecked sailor on his desart shore ; The world is all before him-mine is here, Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier. Yet do I feel at times VIII. : my mind decline, But with a sense of its decay :-I see Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, I thought mine enemies had been but man, Of such defence the Powers of Evil can, Was more or less than mortal, and than me. IX. I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er ;My scars are callous, or I should have dashed My brain against these bars as the sun flashed In mockery through them ;-if I bear and bore The much I have recounted, and the more Which hath no words, 'tis that I would not die And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie And woo compassion to a blighted name, The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down, While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls! By grief, years, weariness-and it may be Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss, This-this shall be a consecrated spot! But Thou-when all that Birth and Beauty throws No power in death can tear our names apart, As none in life could rend thee from my heart. To be entwined for ever-but too late! END OF THE SIXTH VOLUME. |