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61
THE DUELLIST'S SOLILOQUY.
No figment this, of weak remorse!
Before, beside, or after me,
I see, I feel, that bleeding corse,
With terrors I can never flee.
'T is never from my vision hid,—
My eye sees backward, burning through
This dizzy brain,—it melts the lid,
And forward, all is open view.
Before, beside, or after me,
I see, I feel, that bleeding corse,
With terrors I can never flee.
'T is never from my vision hid,—
My eye sees backward, burning through
This dizzy brain,—it melts the lid,
And forward, all is open view.
The Roman convict's doom I share,
With horrors earth can ne'er define;
Awake, asleep, and everywhere,
A lifeless form is bound to mine.
Each wave of air that gives me breath
Seems blowing from the shadowy vale,
And wafting me the scent of death,—
My victim's groan,—the mourner's wail.
With horrors earth can ne'er define;
Awake, asleep, and everywhere,
A lifeless form is bound to mine.
Each wave of air that gives me breath
Seems blowing from the shadowy vale,
And wafting me the scent of death,—
My victim's groan,—the mourner's wail.
A thousand demons tongued with flame
Are lapping up my spirit's life:
The fellest, he who took the name
Of Honor, for the mortal strife;
And Envy, with her serpent train,
Who stung me to the deadly goal,
With honor—such as followed Cain!—
For ever thus to brand my soul.
Are lapping up my spirit's life:
The fellest, he who took the name
Of Honor, for the mortal strife;
And Envy, with her serpent train,
Who stung me to the deadly goal,
With honor—such as followed Cain!—
For ever thus to brand my soul.
62
A widowed mother's hopeful son,—
An orphan sister's joy and shield,—
I hated till the deed was done,
And with his blood my purpose sealed.
I took their only lamb, and drove
My victim, wildered, from the fold,
To slay him in that dismal grove,
Where fiends unseen their revels hold.
An orphan sister's joy and shield,—
I hated till the deed was done,
And with his blood my purpose sealed.
I took their only lamb, and drove
My victim, wildered, from the fold,
To slay him in that dismal grove,
Where fiends unseen their revels hold.
The youth,—his brow without a cloud,
And virtue's beauty beaming there;
My own by passion's burin ploughed,
And hoar-frost in my wiry hair!
He stood high-souled, in noble form,
His breast the seat of truth and love,
While mine contained a scorpion swarm;—
We were the vulture and the dove!
And virtue's beauty beaming there;
My own by passion's burin ploughed,
And hoar-frost in my wiry hair!
He stood high-souled, in noble form,
His breast the seat of truth and love,
While mine contained a scorpion swarm;—
We were the vulture and the dove!
The guilt I plunged him in was new
To him, whilst I was practised well:
I knew my mark,—and when I drew,
His life-stream showered him as he fell!
Then heard I rebel angels laugh;
And plaudits from the black abyss
Came, ringing, on the telegraph
From their infernal world to this.
To him, whilst I was practised well:
I knew my mark,—and when I drew,
His life-stream showered him as he fell!
Then heard I rebel angels laugh;
And plaudits from the black abyss
Came, ringing, on the telegraph
From their infernal world to this.
From that same hour, I feel my doom,—
To live, and writhe eternally;
Or here, or where the surges boom,
To roll me in the fiery sea.
Unnumbered imps in mockery smile,
And taunt me with the mark I bear;
My soul is wrung and torn the while,
A loathsome prey of fell despair.
To live, and writhe eternally;
Or here, or where the surges boom,
To roll me in the fiery sea.
Unnumbered imps in mockery smile,
And taunt me with the mark I bear;
My soul is wrung and torn the while,
A loathsome prey of fell despair.
63
I hear a brother's blood, that cries
To heaven, for vengeance, from the ground:
My trembling spirit vainly sighs
To shrink to nothing, at the sound.
While, back from heaven, the ceaseless call,
“Where is thy brother?” rends mine ear!
Almighty Wrath, thine accents fall
In thunder, not to finish here!
To heaven, for vengeance, from the ground:
My trembling spirit vainly sighs
To shrink to nothing, at the sound.
While, back from heaven, the ceaseless call,
“Where is thy brother?” rends mine ear!
Almighty Wrath, thine accents fall
In thunder, not to finish here!
No power have I to overrule,
Or hurl this blasted life away:
I scorn myself,—the devil's fool!
I served him, and receive his pay.
And lo, the same pale, spectral horse
Of Prophet-vision here I see!
He 's mounted by that bleeding corse!
What “followed with him” is for me.
Or hurl this blasted life away:
I scorn myself,—the devil's fool!
I served him, and receive his pay.
And lo, the same pale, spectral horse
Of Prophet-vision here I see!
He 's mounted by that bleeding corse!
What “followed with him” is for me.
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