Page:Poems of Nature and Life.djvu/258

 248 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE

Forbear ! Man's temples must be mine no more !

My fane I'll seek in yon blue vault immense, Hymns in the chiming spheres ; my search is o'er ;

I've found Him, but in such magnificence That sight grows dark. His veil I cannot rend ; He lives, but without origin or end.

��THE DYING VISION OF BENEDICT ARNOLD.

Come, pierce this bosom, welcome Death !

No enemy thou art ; Thou stifiest but the hated breath

Of one whose broken heart No refuge finds but in despair — Abhorred, detested everywhere.

Where'er I go, men frown on me ;

I walk like Cain on earth ; All shudder when my face they see ;

Even in the halls of mirth. At sight of me, the voices gay In secret whispers die away.

When on some gala day I hear Men cry, " God save the king ! "

The very mob, if I come near. Point at the hated thing.

Shrink at my vile name's very sound.

And empty space straight girds me round.

O that, in hot pursuit close pressed,

I might but make my stand, Bare to the stroke a warrior's breast.

And lift a warrior's hand. And, bravely fighting with my foes. Hail the swift shot that brought repose !

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