Classic Poem

V ELLUTI , the lorn heart, the sexless voice,
To those who can insult a fate without a choice.
...
How often have I wept the dreadful wrong,
Told by the poet in as pale a song,
Which the poor bigot did himself, who spoke
Such piteous passion when his reason woke! —
To the sea-shore he came, and look'd across,
Mourning his land and miserable loss. —
Oh worse than wits that never must return,
To act with madness, and with reason mourn!
I see him, hear him; I myself am he,
Cut off from thy sweet shores, Humanity!
A great gulf rolls between. Winds, with a start,
Rise like my rage, and fall like my poor heart;
Despair is in the pause, and says " We never part."
'Twas ask'd me once (that day was a black day)
To take this scene, and sing it in a play!
Great God! I think I hear the music swell
The moaning bass, the treble's gibbering yell;
Cymbals and drums a shatter'd roar prolong,
Like drunken woe defying its own song:
I join my woman's cry; it turns my brain;
The wilder'd people rise, and chase me with disdain!
...
Alone! alone! no cheek of love for me,
No wish to be wherever I may be
(For that is love): — no helpmate; no defence
From this one, mortal, undivided sense
Of my own self, wand'ring in aching space;
No youth, no manhood, no reviving race;
No little braving playmate, who belies
The ruffling gibe in his proud father's eyes;
No gentler voice — a smaller one — her own —
No — nothing. 'Tis a dream that I have known
Come often at mid-day. — I waked, and was alone.