And shall I then the Fact deny?
I was,—thou know’st,—I was begone,
Like him who fill’d the Eastern Throne,
To whom the Watcher cried aloud[16];
That royal Wretch of Babylon,
Who was so guilty and so proud.
Like him with haughty, stubborn Mind,
I, in my State, my Comforts sought;
Delight and Praise I hop’d to find,
In what I builded, planted, bought!
Oh! Arrogance! by Misery taught—
Soon came a Voice! I felt it come;
“Full be his Cup, with Evil fraught,
“Dæmons his Guides, and Death his Doom!”
Then was I cast from out my State;
Two Fiends of Darkness led my Way;
They wak’d me early, watch’d me late,
My Dread by Night, my Plague by Day!
Oh! I was made their Sport, their Play,
Through many a stormy troubled Year,
And how they us’d their passive Prey,
Is sad to tell: but you shall hear.
And first, before they sent me forth,
Through this unpitying World to run,
They robb’d Sir Eustace of his Worth,
Lands, Manors, Lordships, every one;
So was that gracious Man undone,
Was spurn’d as vile, was scorn’d as poor,
Whom every former Friend would shun,
And Menials drove from every Door.
Then those ill-favour’d Ones[17], whom none
But my unhappy Eyes could view,
Led me, with wild Emotion on,
And, with resistless Terror, drew.
Through Lands we fled, o’er Seas we flew,
And halted on a boundless Plain;
Where nothing fed, nor breath’d nor grew,
But Silence rul’d the still Domain.
Upon that boundless Plain, below,
The setting Sun’s last Rays were shed,
And gave a mild and sober Glow,
Where all were still, asleep or dead;
Vast Ruins in the midst were spread,
Pillars and Pediments sublime,
Where the grey Moss had form’d a Bed,
And cloth’d the crumbling Spoils of Time.
There was I fix’d, I know not how,
Condemn’d for untold Years to stay;
Yet Years were not;—one dreadful Now,
Endur’d no Change of Night or Day;
The same mild Evening’s sleeping Ray,
Shone softly-solemn and serene.
And all that time, I gaz’d away,
The setting Sun’s sad Rays were seen.
At length a Moment’s Sleep stole on,—
Again came my commission’d Foes;
Again through Sea and Land we’re gone,
No Peace, no Respite, no Repose;
Above the dark broad Sea we rose,
We ran through bleak and frozen Land;
I had no Strength, their Strength t’ oppose,
An Infant in a Giant’s hand.
They plac’d me where those Streamers play,
Those nimble Beams of brilliant Light;
It would the stoutest Heart dismay,
To see, to feel, that dreadful Sight:
So swift, so pure, so cold, so bright,
They pierc’d my Frame with icy Wound,
And all that half-year’s polar Night,
Those dancing Streamers wrapt me round.
Slowly that Darkness pass’d away,
When down upon the Earth I fell,—
Some hurried Sleep, was mine by day;
But soon as toll’d the Evening Bell,
They forc’d me on, where-ever dwell
Far-distant Men in Cities fair,
Cities of whom no Travellers tell,
Nor Feet but mine were Wanderers there.