Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/184

150 VII.

I loved all Solitude—but little thought

To spend I know not what of life, remote

From all communion with existence, save

The maniac and his tyrant;—had I been

Their fellow, many years ere this had seen

My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave.

But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave?

Perchance in such a cell we suffer more

Than the wrecked sailor on his desert shore;

The world is all before him—mine is here,

Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.

What though he perish, he may lift his eye,

And with a dying glance upbraid the sky;

I will not raise my own in such reproof,

Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof.

VIII.

Yet do I feel at times my mind decline,

But with a sense of its decay: I see

Unwonted lights along my prison shine,

And a strange Demon, who is vexing me