Marcian Colonna An Italian Tale with Three Dramatic Scenes and Other Poems: By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
 | II. |
| III. |
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 | Marcian Colonna |  |
XI.
“From my sad youthI never was beloved,—never. Truth
Fell mildew'd from my lips, and in my eye
Gloomed, it was said, the red insanity.
I was not mad—nor am; but I became
Withered by malice, and a clouded flame
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And my brain turn, and palsied every limb,
And the world stood in stupor for a time.
Yet from my fiery cloud I heard of crime,
Of parents'—brother's hate, and of one lost
For want of kindness.—Then?—aye; then there came
The rushing of innumerable wings
By me, and sweets, such as the summer flings,
Fell on my fainting senses, and I crept
Into some night-dark place, and long I slept.
I slept, until a rude uneasy motion
Stirred me: what passed I know not then, and yet
Methought the air blew freshly, and the ocean
Danced with its bright blue waters: I forget
Where all this happened; but at last my brain
Seemed struggling with itself, awhile in vain.
There was a load on it, like hopeless care
Upon the mind—a dreary heavy load,
And, now and then, it seemed as shapes did goad
My soul to recollection,—or despair.”
| Marcian Colonna | |