University of Virginia Library

TO PAIN.

Why, what is Life but thee! triumphant Pain?
Vast is thy power and endless is thy reign,
Life seems but one Illusion wild and strange,
One mystery of perplexity and change;
Illusion?—Aye! its hopes, joys, blessings all,
But none, stern Pain, shall thee Illusion call,
Thou bleak and black yet blank Reality,
The veriest sceptic cannot doubt of thee,
The mightiest Conqueror can controul thee not,
Thou art the ruler of our Earthly lot—
Lawgivers are thy Subjects—Kings thy Slaves—
Philosophers thy fools—staid Wisdom raves
Like babbling ideotcy on thy keen rack,
When all thy murderous train are at thy back,
Twin-Empires hast thou—thou hast Kingdoms twain,
Oh! thou Earth-desolating Power of Pain—
The sentient Frame—the conscious Soul of man,
And these have been thine own since Life began;
By the most thoughtless art thou ne'er forgot,
Sovereign of Life—chief Sovereign of our lot,
Thou art the known, felt, Truth—the Certainty,
The touchstone of Existence, since to thee
The keenest sense of Being still we owe,
Thro' thee, thro' thee, our deepest powers we know—
Capacites of suffering still transcend
The rest by far, and have no bound nor end,
He who becomes thy prey at once he lives
A life, that Nature at our birth ne'er gives—
An animated Universe of strife
Grows his extended and enlarging life,
Without a bourne—illimitably wide,
By torture's deadly mystery magnified
A Chaos of quick consciousness—intense
With every nerve o'erwrought, and every sense
A Chaos, whose black discord and whose war
Where all things join and only join to jar—
Shall ne'er in harmony and order close—
From ruin and destruction 'tis it grows!
A Chaos not of Hope but of Despair,
With stern perdition, but no promise there!
A Chaos of inextricable Ill
That shall remain a barren Chaos still,
And this is thy vile work—thou ruthless Pain,
Dark uncreator!—with too wide a reign!
Death, like an Angel, smileth by thy side,
We court him, as the bridegroom might the bride,
And pant to rest within that quiet grave,
Whose sleep from all thine agonies shall save,
Thou Spirit-crushing Power—all-dreaded Pain,
Who wide dost spread thine undisputed reign
O'er this still groaning and ill fated Earth,
Which, but for thee, gives all her children birth.
But art thou then, the Ruler over all,
Do all indeed stoop meekly to thy thrall?
Dost thou indeed such boundless sway exert,
Wide, wide o'er th' Universal Frame and Heart—
The helpless Frame to thee must ofttimes yield,
But boasts the Heart no shelter and no shield?
Oh! most unworthy thought—it is not so,
(Though vast in truth thy Empire spreads below)—
But Hope, but Faith, but Fortitude, and Love,
How oft have these thine influence towered above,
And taught thee in thy turn an humbler mood—
Faced, dared, confronted, challenged, and subdued!—
Thou wring'st the quivering nerves with fiendish art,
Till very Life appears to come and part
At thy stern will, as though at hideous strife
With threat'ning Death—or e'en as Death and Life
At once were shut within the sufferer's Soul,
Disputing inch by inch the tortured whole—
Torn—riven between them—to its centre wrung
With every pang of every anguish stung,
Or through that Soul thou driv'st thy deadlier fangs,
Not throes corporeal but keen mental pangs.
And yet that Soul at times hath nobly been
Even in such strife in its own self serene!—
In its own self thus martyred and thus made
A scene of ghastly waste—in ruins laid!
And while all Earthly hope was snatched away,
And every feeling thy defenceless prey,
It hath exulted in the holier trust,
Which buildeth not its bulwarks of the dust—
And ev'n the fleshly Form when armed, inspired—
By that All-conquering Soul's proud impulse fired,
Can strengthen its strong nerves and suffer less,
Though pang on pang to assail it still may press,
And may e'en fortify itself with zeal
That half forbids the unshrinking flesh to feel,
For sure to shun and to resist is still
But to aggravate the antagonizing Ill!
To arm it 'gainst ourselves—while nerve by nerve
Doth shuddering shrink away, and shivering swerve,
First from the upcoiled contraction must they be
Torn, wrenched perforce in quivering agony,
Then by the mastering throes that crowd in thick,
Pierced, wrung, and thrilled unto the tortured quick!
But when the Victim dares to meet those throes
Half way, at once their keenest power they lose,
The quickened blood bears strength thro' ev'ry part,
Nor curdles sickening round the withering heart—
The mind—the mind can blunt Pain's deadliest sting,
And teach the flesh to brave its suffering—
'Tis as the etherealized—th' exalted Frame
Part of the immortal Spirit then became—
Behold Oh! Pain, thy dark and direful sway
Disputed thus in Nature's last decay,
By vigourous spirits that know not to bend,
But strive and struggle nobly to the end!
I call thee now no more the unconquered Power,
Though many yield in thy destructive hour—
Our Human Nature can thy might defy,
When keen roused energies their strength supply,
Pain! countless rebels rise against thy reign,
And challenge thee and all thy fearful train—
Affection mocks thee, and Repentance craves,
The Martyr loves thee, and the Savage braves.