Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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| II. |
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| V. |
MADNESS. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
235
MADNESS.
Grief made its home within my breast
Till my heart grew sad and cold—
Till my sunken cheek, and my dull, dim eye,
Of its blighting presence told.
Till my heart grew sad and cold—
Till my sunken cheek, and my dull, dim eye,
Of its blighting presence told.
A blacker Fiend came mocking then:—
It was madness in its ire;
And its maniac-hands my heart-strings wrench'd,
And it wrapt my brain in fire:—
It was madness in its ire;
And its maniac-hands my heart-strings wrench'd,
And it wrapt my brain in fire:—
And it fought with Reason in my breast
Till it had its direful will—
Till bound in its chains was the struggling soul,
Which was wildly conscious still.
Till it had its direful will—
Till bound in its chains was the struggling soul,
Which was wildly conscious still.
I spoke with Madness' raving voice,
And I glared with Madness' eyes:
Flesh did its work, while the spirit wept
O'er the body's sacrifice.
And I glared with Madness' eyes:
Flesh did its work, while the spirit wept
O'er the body's sacrifice.
My feet and hands with chains were bound,
And my body suffer'd blows;
And the dark Fiend shriek'd from the spirit's home
As the lash in menace rose.
And my body suffer'd blows;
And the dark Fiend shriek'd from the spirit's home
As the lash in menace rose.
236
The eye that once look'd kind on me
Now fearful o'er me stole;
Then the Fiend would turn with a mocking laugh
To its trembling victim soul.
Now fearful o'er me stole;
Then the Fiend would turn with a mocking laugh
To its trembling victim soul.
Months, years of torture such as this
I do remember now,
Till my hair grew white, and my body weak,
And wrinkled grew my brow:
I do remember now,
Till my hair grew white, and my body weak,
And wrinkled grew my brow:
And then there came a dreary blank
When all was dark within—
A howling night of unutter'd woe
Where a moonbeam could not win.
When all was dark within—
A howling night of unutter'd woe
Where a moonbeam could not win.
And in that night I had a dream:—
I thought that far away
From the dungeon deep—my torture-home—
On a morning I did stray.
I thought that far away
From the dungeon deep—my torture-home—
On a morning I did stray.
I thought I lay within a wood,
In its glorious summer prime;
And I heard the voice of Him who spans
Eternity and Time.
In its glorious summer prime;
And I heard the voice of Him who spans
Eternity and Time.
He bade the Fiend resign its prey,
And the prison'd soul go free;
And the dream was o'er, for I stood restored
Beneath the forest tree!
And the prison'd soul go free;
And the dream was o'er, for I stood restored
Beneath the forest tree!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |