The Modern Cymon
You bid me tell you, why I rise
At midnight from my lonely bed;
And search amongst the coming clouds;
And talk as though I saw the dead:
You speak of madness—of the moon—
I've heard such idle jeers before:
Give me your patience, for my tale,
And you shall deem me mad no more.
II.
I was not born of noble race:
I know a peasant was my sire;
But, from my mother's breast, I sucked
The milk that filled my blood with fire.
I ran, as wild as doth the wolf,
About the fields, for many years:
But, in my twentieth summer, Thought
Sprang upwards, in a rain of tears.
III.
A sudden chance (if chance it were)
Flung me across a marriage train;
And there I saw a wretched girl
Forced onwards, while she wept in vain.
I never saw so fair a thing;
My eyes were hot within my head:
I heard her scream—I saw her forced
(By a brother) towards a brute—and wed.
IV.
I sought the hills—I sought the woods;
My heart was bursting in my breast:
At last, tears rushed in rivers forth,
And, for a time, I felt at rest.
Those tears! they washed from off my eyes
The cloudy film that on them lay;
And I awoke, and saw the light,
And knew I did behold the Day.
V.
Till then, I had but been a beast,
Had let mere savage will prevail;
Was ignorant—sullen—fierce; till Love—
(You have some fable, like my tale,)
Till Love flew forth and touched my heart:
Then, all at once, my Spirit strong
Swelled upwards, like a torrent damm'd,
And forced its furious way along.
VI.
I read—I learned—I thought—I loved!
(For Love was all the motive then);
And one, who was a friend, gave help,
And I went forth and mixed with men:
I talked with him they called her lord:
I talked with Her —who was a bride
Through fraud and force and rapine;—God!
She spoke:—I think I could have died!
VII.
I heard her words: I saw her eyes,
Where patient mingled with the sad:
I felt her breath upon my cheek;
Its perfume did not drive me mad:
I listened dumbly to her wrongs—
Imprisoned, struck, despised, deceived;
And, in my heart, I heard a voice
CrYout “Revenge!”—and I believed!
VIII.
Still, Time wore on; and efforts vain
Were made to bend the Dæmon's will;
To wean him from the wrong to right;
But, he was base and cruel still.
Such deeds he did! Romance hath bared
The truth of many a hellish crime;
But never yet did Fiction dream
Of half that I could tell in rhyme.
IX.
Suffice it; all things have an end.
There is an end, where mortal pain
Must stop, and can endure no more:
This limit did we now attain:
For Hope—sweet Patience—Virtue fled!
I did what she could never dare:
I cut the canker from her side;
And bore her off—to healthier air!
X.
Far—far away! She never knew
That I had blood upon my breast:
And yet, (although she loved me much,)
I know not why, she could not rest.
I strove to cheer her love,—to stir
Her pride—but, ah, she had no pride!
We loved each other;—yet she pined:
We loved each other;—yet she died!
XI.
She died, as fading roses die,
Although the warm and healing air
Comes breathing forth and wraps them round:
She died, despite my love and care.
I placed her, gently, in the lead;
I soothed her hair, as it should be;
And drew a promise—what she vowed
Is a secret, 'tween my soul and me!
XII.
She died; and yet I have her still,—
Carved, softly, in Carrara stone;
And in my chamber she abides,
Sitting in silence,—all alone;
Alone, save when the midnight Moon
Her calm and spotless bosom seeks:
Then , she unclasps her marble hands,
And moves her marble lips—and speaks!
XIII.
And this is why I restless seem;
And this is why I always rise
At midnight still throughout the year,
And look for comfort in the skies:
For then the angel of my heart
Awakens from her sleep of stone;
And we exchange sweet hopes and thoughts,
In words unto the earth unknown.
XIV.
Now,—tell me; Am I mad?—Who's He
That stares, and gibbers at me there?
I know him:—there's his crookèd claw;
His glittering eye; his snaky hair:
Begone!—he's gone.—Excuse me, Sir:
These fellows often pinch my brain;
(I know full well who spurs them on;)
But—as you see—they teaze in vain.
At midnight from my lonely bed;
And search amongst the coming clouds;
And talk as though I saw the dead:
You speak of madness—of the moon—
I've heard such idle jeers before:
Give me your patience, for my tale,
And you shall deem me mad no more.
II.
I was not born of noble race:
I know a peasant was my sire;
But, from my mother's breast, I sucked
The milk that filled my blood with fire.
I ran, as wild as doth the wolf,
About the fields, for many years:
But, in my twentieth summer, Thought
Sprang upwards, in a rain of tears.
III.
A sudden chance (if chance it were)
Flung me across a marriage train;
And there I saw a wretched girl
Forced onwards, while she wept in vain.
I never saw so fair a thing;
My eyes were hot within my head:
I heard her scream—I saw her forced
(By a brother) towards a brute—and wed.
IV.
I sought the hills—I sought the woods;
My heart was bursting in my breast:
At last, tears rushed in rivers forth,
And, for a time, I felt at rest.
Those tears! they washed from off my eyes
The cloudy film that on them lay;
And I awoke, and saw the light,
And knew I did behold the Day.
V.
Till then, I had but been a beast,
Had let mere savage will prevail;
Was ignorant—sullen—fierce; till Love—
(You have some fable, like my tale,)
Till Love flew forth and touched my heart:
Then, all at once, my Spirit strong
Swelled upwards, like a torrent damm'd,
And forced its furious way along.
VI.
I read—I learned—I thought—I loved!
(For Love was all the motive then);
And one, who was a friend, gave help,
And I went forth and mixed with men:
I talked with him they called her lord:
I talked with Her —who was a bride
Through fraud and force and rapine;—God!
She spoke:—I think I could have died!
VII.
I heard her words: I saw her eyes,
Where patient mingled with the sad:
I felt her breath upon my cheek;
Its perfume did not drive me mad:
I listened dumbly to her wrongs—
Imprisoned, struck, despised, deceived;
And, in my heart, I heard a voice
CrYout “Revenge!”—and I believed!
VIII.
Still, Time wore on; and efforts vain
Were made to bend the Dæmon's will;
To wean him from the wrong to right;
But, he was base and cruel still.
Such deeds he did! Romance hath bared
The truth of many a hellish crime;
But never yet did Fiction dream
Of half that I could tell in rhyme.
IX.
Suffice it; all things have an end.
There is an end, where mortal pain
Must stop, and can endure no more:
This limit did we now attain:
For Hope—sweet Patience—Virtue fled!
I did what she could never dare:
I cut the canker from her side;
And bore her off—to healthier air!
X.
Far—far away! She never knew
That I had blood upon my breast:
And yet, (although she loved me much,)
I know not why, she could not rest.
I strove to cheer her love,—to stir
Her pride—but, ah, she had no pride!
We loved each other;—yet she pined:
We loved each other;—yet she died!
XI.
She died, as fading roses die,
Although the warm and healing air
Comes breathing forth and wraps them round:
She died, despite my love and care.
I placed her, gently, in the lead;
I soothed her hair, as it should be;
And drew a promise—what she vowed
Is a secret, 'tween my soul and me!
XII.
She died; and yet I have her still,—
Carved, softly, in Carrara stone;
And in my chamber she abides,
Sitting in silence,—all alone;
Alone, save when the midnight Moon
Her calm and spotless bosom seeks:
Then , she unclasps her marble hands,
And moves her marble lips—and speaks!
XIII.
And this is why I restless seem;
And this is why I always rise
At midnight still throughout the year,
And look for comfort in the skies:
For then the angel of my heart
Awakens from her sleep of stone;
And we exchange sweet hopes and thoughts,
In words unto the earth unknown.
XIV.
Now,—tell me; Am I mad?—Who's He
That stares, and gibbers at me there?
I know him:—there's his crookèd claw;
His glittering eye; his snaky hair:
Begone!—he's gone.—Excuse me, Sir:
These fellows often pinch my brain;
(I know full well who spurs them on;)
But—as you see—they teaze in vain.
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