Their Watchmen stare, and stand aghast,
As on we hurry through the dark;
The Watch-light blinks, as we go past,
The Watch-dog shrinks and fears to bark;
The Watch-tower’s Bell sounds shrill; and, hark!
The free Wind blows—we’ve left the Town—
A wide Sepulchral Ground I mark,
And on a Tomb-stone place me down.
What Monuments of mighty Dead!
What Tombs of various kinds are found!
And Stones erect, their Shadows shed,
On humble Graves, with Wickers bound;
Some risen fresh, above the Ground,
Some level with the native Clay,
What sleeping Millions wait the Sound,
“Arise, ye Dead, and come away!”
Alas! they stay not for that Call;
Spare me this Woe! ye Dæmons, spare!—
They come! the shrowded Shadows all,—
’Tis more than mortal Brain can bear!
Rustling they rise, they sternly glare
At Man upheld by vital Breath;
Who led by wicked Fiends should dare
To join the shadowy Troops of Death!
Yes! I have felt all Man can feel,
Till he shall pay his Nature’s Debt;
Ills that no Hope has Strength to heal,
No Mind the Comfort to forget:
Whatever Cares the Heart can fret,
The Spirits wear, the Temper gall;
Woe, Want, Dread, Anguish, all beset
My sinful Soul!—together all!
Those Fiends, upon a shaking Fen,
Fix’d me, in dark tempestuous Night;
There never trod the Foot of Men,
There flock’d the Fowl in wint’ry Flight;
There danc’d the Moor’s deceitful Light,
Above the Pool where Sedges grow;
And when the Morning-Sun shone bright,
It shone upon a Field of Snow.
They hung me on a Bough, so small,
The Rook could build her Nest no higher;
They fix’d me on the trembling Ball,
That crowns the Steeple’s quiv’ring Spire;
They set me where the Seas retire,
But drown with their returning Tide;
And made me flee the Mountain’s Fire,
When rolling from its burning Side.
I’ve hung upon the ridgy Steep
Of Cliffs, and held the rambling Brier;
I’ve plung’d below the billowy Deep,
Where Air was sent me to respire;
I’ve been where hungry Wolves retire;
And (to complete my Woes) I’ve ran,
Where Bedlam’s crazy Crew conspire
Against the Life of reasoning Man.
I’ve furl’d in Storms the flapping Sail,
By banging from the Top-mast-head;
I’ve serv’d the vilest Slaves in Jail,
And pick’d the Dunghill’s Spoil for Bread;
I’ve made the Badger’s Hole my Bed,
I’ve wander’d with a Gipsey Crew,
I’ve dreaded all the Guilty dread,
And done what they would fear to do.
On Sand where ebbs and flows the Flood,
Midway they plac’d and bade me die;
Propt on my Staff, I stoutly stood
When the swift Waves came rolling by;
And high they rose, and still more high,
Till my Lips drank the bitter Brine;
I sobb’d convuls’d, then cast mine Eye
And saw the Tide’s re-flowing Sign.
And then, my Dreams were such as nought
Could yield but my unhappy Case;
I’ve been of thousand Devils caught,
And thrust into that horrid Place,
Where reign Dismay, Despair, Disgrace;
Furies with iron Fangs were there,
To torture that accursed Race,
Doom’d to Dismay, Disgrace, Despair.