And long and deeply hast thou quaff’d;
And bitter as thy pangs may be,
They are but guerdons meet from me!
Yet these are but a moment’s throes—
Howe’er intense, they soon shall close.
Soon shalt thou yield thy fleeting breath—
My life hath been a lingering death,
Since one dark hour of woe and crime,
A blood-spot on the page of time!
“Deem’st thou my mind of reason void?