Classic Poem

Around my brain there is a chain, and o'er my fevered soul
A darkness like that solemn gloom which once through Egypt stole;
Sometimes I feel, but know not why, a fire within me burn,
And visions fierce and terrible, pursue where'er I turn;
Then I forget that earth is earth, and that myself am life,
And nature seems to die away in darkness, hell and strife.
But when my phrenzied fit is o'er, a dreary hour comes on, —
A consciousness of unknown things, — of reason overthrown.
Cold runs my blood from vein to vein — all vacant is mine eye,
And in my ears a sound of death, and dread eternity!
Then one by one my thoughts return, and from my grated cell
I gaze upon the mountain fir, the steep and woody dell;
And as I listen to the stream that dashes far below,
I pine for freedom as a joy I never more can know.
Beyond those far blue hills, I feel, was once my home of bliss,
And there my father's cottage stood, — a roof more blest than this.
Ah! now I think I see them come, the forms I used to love,
And hear the evening shepherd bell sound sweetly through our grove. —
But they are gone! — all past away — they only flash like rays
Of morning o'er my memory — my young — my happy days! —
They said that I was lovely then — and wreathed with flowers my brow,
Oh! would my cheek had been as pale — my eye as dim as now! —
For love with all its pleasures came, but ah! its guilt came too,
And peace — fair twin to innocence, no more my bosom knew!
Oh — thou who falsely — darkly lured my frail fond heart astray,
Then left me like a broken flower, alone to waste away,
Where art thou now? doth ever thought, thy dark hour rush across,
Of me, — forsaken — fallen me, — to goad thee with remorse? —
Or hast thou in the stream of life, 'mid scenes and forms more sweet,
Forgot these tears that madd'ning mourn, my guilt and thy deceit? —
Go — lull more hearts with hopes of bliss, undreaming of a snare,
Till they awake to shame and feel — the pangs such bliss must bear.
Deceive! Deceive! — I loved thee once, therefore I will not curse; —
But if my soul were bared to thee — Hell could not wish thee worse! —
Yet, if a heart, e'en hard as thine, could feel but half the pain
Which woman's wounded bosom feels — 'twould ne'er deceive again! —
Oh! when the bubble pleasure burst, how slowly time rolled by, —
My thoughts were grief — my looks were shame, — my every breath a sigh! —
Still — still I feel the scoffs of those who, with a cruel scorn,
Made doubly sad the memory of hours for ever gone, —
And still I hear my father's voice — as with a dreadful wrath
He cursed me with a bitter curse, and friendless drove me forth.
It was a cold and cheerless eve — and through the dark'ning sky
The wind swept past in hurried gusts, and shook the trees on high; —
My child was in my arms — my own — how quietly it slept!
I longed for morn yet feared it, and I wandered on and wept,
Till, worn with sorrow and fatigue, careless I sate me down,
And felt how doubly keen it is to mourn — and mourn alone!
Cold — cold we were — oh never since such chilling grief has press'd
Upon my heart whose strings seemed burst — and frozen in my breast;
And o'er my soul, like demon forms, dark recollections came,
My sorrows and my sins and all my pleasures bought with shame, —
Till through my brain they racked like fire, and every vein waxed hot,
And in confused despair, awhile e'en sorrow seemed forgot: —
Strange feelings, such as none but maniacs ever know or feel,
Rushed indistinctly on my mind, and reason seemed to reel,
Till, lost in unknown agony, I laughed as if in mirth,
Or shudd'ring — welcomed back the gloom of hell begun on earth:
Then madness first his scorching hand held o'er my withered brain, —
Ah — ha! — it was a deadly touch — but it never cooled again! —