University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
Yes—something once had touched his brain—
With fire—but he would ne'er complain—
Had misery left him with the power
To tell the suffering of that hour:—
But—as it was, the fearful cause
Of all the scenes that madness draws—
That curse of Genius!—all that awes!—
That reft his heart—and bowed his pride,
To him was known—to none beside:
And all he knew, was but a dream
Of sleepless agony:—the beam,
That shone upon his maniac way,
Was but the melancholy ray,
That plays o'er churchyards, when the Night
Reveals her phantoms to the sight:
'Twas but the lurid, wandering beam:—
The troubled lightning of a stream;
Or stricken armour's hasty gleam;
'Twas but the light that meteors shed;
That faintly watches o'er the bed,
Where Desolation guards the dead:

190

The splendours of the storm, that show
Temples and monuments laid low;
And altars shattered by that God
Whose thunders roll but once—whose nod
But once in wrath, is ever given—
When temples fall—and spires are strone;
And Empire totters from her throne;
And prostrate Idols bow to heaven!