6.
Of golden locks was the rich tissue wove
Framed by my sympathy, wherein with shame
My struggling Reason was entrapped like Love
In the strong arms of Appetite, the fame
Whereof drew all Olympus to regard
The Fire-God's capture; but 'twere out of place
For me this capture to go gaze, debarred
Of that whereby to contemplate the case.
So circumstanced I find myself! the field
Of tournament is cleared, the foe descried,
Alarmed I stand, without or spear or shield,
Closed are the barriers, and escape denied.
Who at my story is not terrified!
Who could believe that I am fallen so low,
That to the grief I hurry from, my pride
Is oft-times found so little of a foe,
That at the moment when I might regain
A life of freedom, I caress my chain,
And curse the hours and moments lately lent
To freer thoughts, as mournfully mis-spent.
7.
This fancy is not always paramount,
For of a brain so wild the phantasies
Sleep not a moment; Grief at times will mount
The throne of Slavery, and her sceptre seize,
So that my fancy shrinks as from its place,
To shun the torture of its frightful face.
There is no part in me but frenzied is,
And wailed by me in turn; on my wild track,
Afresh protesting at the blind abyss,
I turn affrighted back.
Not urged by reason, not by judgment, this
Discretion of the mind is wholly lost;
All is become a barrenness or blot,
But this one grief, and ev'n the rising ghost
Of dead joy, gliding by, is heeded not;
I keep no chronicle of by-gone bliss,
But feel alone, within my heart and brain,
The fury and the force of present pain.
8.
In midst of all this agony and woe
A shade of good descends my wounds to heal;
Surely, I fancy, my beloved foe
Must feel some little part of what I feel.
So insupportable a toil weighs down
My weary soul, that did I not create
Some strong deceit, of power to ease the weight,
I must at once die—die without my crown
Of martyrdom, a registered renown,
Untalked of by the world, unheard, unviewed!
And thus from my most miserable estate
I draw a gleam of good.
But soon my fate this train of things reverses,
For if I ever from the storm find peace,
Peace nurtures fear, and fear my peace disperses,
Swift as a rainbow arched o'er raging seas;
Thus from the flowers which for a space console,
Springs up the serpent that devours my soul.
9.
Ode! if men, seeing thee, be seized with fright
At the caprice, inconstancy, and shock
Of these conflicting fancies of my brain,
Say that the cause thereof—tormenting pain,
Is stable, fixt, and changeless as a rock.
Say thou, that its fierce might
So storms my heart that it must yield, ere long,
Ev'n to a foe more terrible and strong;
To him, from whom all cross themselves—to save;
The Power whose home is in the lonely grave!