Portland, (Maine,) Nov., 1837.
[LAY OF THE MADMAN.][9]
'This is the foul fiend! He begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. Beware of the foul fiend!'
Shakspeare.
Many a year hath passed away,
Many a dark and dismal year,
Since last I roam'd in the light of day,
Or mingled my own with another's tear;
Wo to the daughters and sons of men—
Wo to them all, when I roam again!
Here have I watch'd, in this dungeon cell,
Longer than Memory's tongue can tell;
Here have I shriek'd, in my wild despair,
When the damnéd fiends from their prison came,
Sported and gambol'd, and mock'd me here,
With their eyes of fire, and their tongues of flame;
Shouting for ever and aye my name!
And I strove in vain
To burst my chain,
And longed to be free as the winds, again,
That I might spring
In the wizard ring,
And scatter them back to their hellish den!
Wo to the daughters and sons of men—
Wo to them all, when I roam again!
How long I have been in this dungeon here,
Little I know, and nothing I care;
What to me is the day or night,
Summer's heat or autumn sere,
Spring-tide flowers, or winter's blight,
Pleasure's smile, or sorrow's tear?
Time! what care I for thy flight,
Joy! I spurn thee with disdain;
Nothing love I but this clanking chain;
Once I broke from its iron hold,
Nothing I said, but silent and bold,
Like the shepherd that watches his gentle fold,
Like the tiger that crouches in mountain lair,
Hours upon hours, so watch'd I here;
Till one of the fiends that had come to bring
Herbs from the valley and drink from the spring,
Stalk'd through my dungeon entrance in!
Ha! how he shriek'd to see me free—
Ho! how he trembled and knelt to me,
He who had mock'd me many a day,
And barred me out from its cheerful ray,
Gods! how I shouted to see him pray!
I wreath'd my hand in the demon's hair,
And chok'd his breath in its mutter'd prayer,
And danc'd I then, in wild delight,
To see the trembling wretch's fright.
Gods! how I crush'd his hated bones!
'Gainst the jagged wall and the dungeon-stones;
And plung'd my arm adown his throat,
And dragg'd to life his beating heart,
And held it up, that I might gloat,
To see its quivering fibres start!
Ho! how I drank of the purple flood,
Quaff'd and quaff'd again of blood,
Till my brain grew dark, and I knew no more,
Till I found myself on this dungeon floor,
Fetter'd and held by this iron chain;
Ho! when I break its links again,
Ha! when I break its links again,
Wo to the daughters and sons of men!
My frame is shrunk, and my soul is sad,
And devils mock, and call me mad;
Many a dark and fearful sight
Haunts me here, in the gloom of night;
Mortal smile or human tear
Never cheers or soothes me here;
The spider shrinks from my grasp away,
Though he's known my form for many a day;
The slimy toad, with his diamond eye,
Watches afar, but comes not nigh;
The craven rat, with her filthy brood,
Pilfers and gnaws my scanty food:
But when I strive to make her play,
Snaps at my hands, and flees away;
Light of day or ray of sun,
Friend or hope, I've none—I've none!
Yet 'tis not always thus; sweet slumber steals
Across my haggard mind, my weary sight;
No more my brain the iron pressure feels,
Nor damnéd devils howl the live-long night;
Visions of hope and beauty seem
To mingle with my darker dream;
They bear me back to a long-lost day,
To the hours and joys of my boyhood's play,
To the merry green,
And the sportive scene,
And the valley the verdant hills between;
And a lovely form with a bright blue eye,
Flutters my dazzled vision by;
A tear starts up to my wither'd eye,
Gods! how I love to feel that tear
Trickle my haggard visage o'er!
The fountain of hope is not yet dry;
I feel as I felt in days of yore,
When I roam'd at large in my native glen,
Honor'd and lov'd by the sons of men,
Till, madden'd to find my home defil'd,
I grasp'd the knife, in my frenzy wild,
And plunged the blade in my sleeping child!