Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/161

Rh Her.Fiend, away!

Comest thou to exult o'er vanquished conscience?

I am sufficient torment to myself

Without thy hellish aid; away! away!

2d Voice. Bid me not go away; I am a part

Of thy inseparable self—dark restlessness.

I too have haunted thee in midnight watches;

I too have peopled solitude with forms

Fearful and black as gloom; have worn out virtue

With my perpetual importunities.

Nay, Hermon, I am too much part of thee

To leave thee to still musings and reflection.

Her. Oh, thou tormenting spirit! let thy voice

Rest for one hour, that my vexed soul may find

Repose from thy incessant torturing.

Is't not enough that I am what I am,

Traitor to Heaven, and curst upon the earth,

Without the object for which all was lost,

But thou must scourge me thus?

2d Voice.The object—ay,

And when shall she reward thee? Answer me.

Her. Goad not my soul to madness with thy taunts,

If mad I am not now; it seems to me

That my brain is on fire, and my heart burns

With a devouring flame. O that Azlea

Could for one hour feel my tormenting pangs,

Then Hermon would be pitied.

2d Voice.She would not

Yield, as thou hast done; in her gentle soul

I might wear out the life, but virtue never.

Her. Again, again you taunt me. Fiend, away!

My brain is crazed with torment—I am mad!