Classic Poem

I am banished from home and from heaven,
Like the rush of a thunderbolt driven;
Ever blacker the night sinks before me,
And louder the storm rages o'er me;
A whirlwind behind me is rushing,
And torrents around me are gushing:
My flight must be onward for ever,
And a rest from my wandering be never.

My proud heart is broken and saddened;
My brain, like a scorpion, maddened,
When a circle of flame has fast bound him,
And death is within and around him;
My hopes are all scattered and flying,
And the last pulse that stirred me is dying:
Of memory no time can bereave me;
It may torture, but never will leave me.

O, where the ambition that hovered,
Till its pinions with glory were covered!
Where the hopes, ever fonder and lighter,
Like the morning sun brighter and brighter!
Where the fancy that colored and painted,
Till the picture was hallowed and sainted,
And the love, a devoted adorer,
That bent in his ecstasy o'er her!

O, these were my forfeited heaven!
But few were the days they were given:
And now, like a wanderer benighted,
Every blossom and bud torn and blighted,
In the regions of darkness and sorrow,
Forbidden the hope of a morrow,
From all that was dear I must sever,
And rush to my ruin for ever.

Now rage, like a hurricane, wings me,
And the goading of memory stings me;
If I look for a moment behind me,
The arrows of thought sear and blind me;
The far-echoed music of gladness
Now stirs me to fury and madness,
And the fame that once wooed me now spurns me,
And its brightness now scorches and burns me.

Then welcome the rush and the roaring,
And the storm that is bursting and pouring,
And the darkness that thickens around me,
As if earth in its centre had bound me;
Better onward through chaos be driven,
Than be scared by the frowning of heaven,
Though a rest from my wandering be never,
And my flight be for ever and ever.