In depth of loneliest wood, amid the din
Of midnight storm and thunder, spoke Despair,
While Horror, shuddering, heard that voice alone.
Oh! load of guilt! relentless misery!
Still, ever still the same where'er I fly;
No peace, no hope, not one poor moment's glimpse
Through all the blackness of eternity!
Monster of direst guilt! this mother's hand
Murder'd my babe, my new-born innocent.
I seek not mercy, no!—long sought in vain
While conscience prey'd upon my secret heart,
Wasting its life in agonizing groans,
And floods of scalding tears,—but now no more;
Those pangs are past, this heart is wither'd, dead!
Changed all to crime, all rottenness and stench;
'Twould taint creation were it not confined.
Parch'd are these eyes, their sorrows turn'd to ice,
A mountain of impenetrable ice,
In whose unfathom'd centre lies my soul,
Imprison'd, numb'd, buried in conscious death.
O could I cease to think! cease quite to be!
O could I live in torments! writhe in hell!
Raptures to this! Rouse, rouse to life, my soul,
In madness of despair, O burst thy tomb;
Call God and devils to behold thy guilt,
And blast thee. (It lightens.)
See, what sudden blaze! they come!
Welcome, O welcome! follow me, look there!
There lies my murder'd babe:—now strike!—avenge!
(It thunders.)
Overwhelming stroke!
(She falls upon the ground insensible:—
at length, coming to herself)—
Ah! am I conscious still?
Not blasted then?—does this one little spark
Amidst a universe of solid gloom
Still live? I'll try to quench it with my blood.
Come, dagger, pierce, pierce deep; I feel thy point;
My blood flows fast, it animates my heart.
The gathering cloud of death grows thick and dark,
It hangs oppressive on my swimming sight:
See, see, the Spirit of my murder'd child
Comes with a troop of demons to conduct
My soul to hell;—they seize me for their prey,
They drag me down: Oh! horror! horror! oh!
(She dies.)