XXVI.
Wild doubts, that floating in my brain delight
To war with my fond feelings, tempesting
In your suspicious flight with angry wing
My melancholy bosom, day and night!
Now is my force of mind extinguished quite,
And all resistance, vain is my lamenting,—
Vanquished, I yield myself at length, repenting,—
E'er to have striven in such a hopeless fight.
Bear me to that lone tower whose gate alarms
The quick,—my death I saw not graven there,
Blindness has sealed my eyes till now; my arms
I cast aside; since their misfortunes bar
Help from the unhappy—the proud pomp prepare,
And hang my spoils on your triumphal car!