And feeds his vengeance on the pangs I feel.
There must I see, each morning’s life begun,
Thy best blood rusting in the rising sun;
By night—by night, whene’er the moonbeams pale
Have wreathed the chamber in their mystic veil,
Through the dim haze, like spectral lamp, it gleams,
Or fills with baleful light my midnight dreams.
From hideous sleep with quivering limbs I start—
That blade seems rusting in my throbbing heart;
Like a red cloud it shuts the light away,