The works of Lord Byron :: :: University of Virginia Library

Four—
Five—six hours have I counted, like the guard
Of outposts, on the never-merry clock,
That hollow tongue of time, which, even when
It sounds for joy, takes something from enjoyment
With every clang. 'Tis a perpetual knell,
Though for a marriage-feast it rings: each stroke
Peals for a hope the less; the funeral note
Of Love deep-buried, without resurrection,
In the grave of Possession; while the knoll
Of long-lived parents finds a jovial echo
To triple time in the son's ear.

I'm cold—
I'm dark;—I've blown my fingers—numbered o'er
And o'er my steps—and knocked my head against
Some fifty buttresses—and roused the rats

409

And bats in general insurrection, till
Their curséd pattering feet and whirling wings
Leave me scarce hearing for another sound.
A light! It is at distance (if I can
Measure in darkness distance): but it blinks
As through a crevice or a key-hole, in
The inhibited direction: I must on,
Nevertheless, from curiosity.
A distant lamp-light is an incident
In such a den as this. Pray Heaven it lead me
To nothing that may tempt me! Else—Heaven aid me
To obtain or to escape it! Shining still!
Were it the star of Lucifer himself,
Or he himself girt with its beams, I could
Contain no longer. Softly: mighty well!
That corner 's turned—so—ah! no;—right! it draws
Nearer. Here is a darksome angle—so,
That 's weathered.—Let me pause.—Suppose it leads
Into some greater danger than that which
I have escaped—no matter, 'tis a new one;
And novel perils, like fresh mistresses,
Wear more magnetic aspects:—I will on,
And be it where it may—I have my dagger
Which may protect me at a pinch.—Burn still,
Thou little light! Thou art my ignis fatuus!
My stationary Will-o'-the-wisp!—So! so!
He hears my invocation, and fails not.

[The scene closes.