Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 5.djvu/247

Rh Innumerable, more endurable, By the unbounded sympathy of all With all! But He! so wretched in his height, So restless in his wretchedness, must still Create, and re-create—perhaps he'll make One day a Son unto himself—as he Gave you a father—and if he so doth, Mark me! that Son will be a sacrifice!
 * Cain. Thou speak'st to me of things which long have swum

In visions through my thought : I never could Reconcile what I saw with, what I heard. My father and my mother talk to me Of serpents, and of fruits and trees: I see The gates of what they call their Paradise Guarded by fiery-sworded Cherubim, Which shut them out—and me: I feel the weight Of daily toil, and constant thought: I look Around a world where I seem nothing, with Thoughts which arise within me, as if they Could master all things—but I thought alone This misery was mine. My father is Tamed down; my mother has forgot the mind Which made her thirst for knowledge at the risk Of an eternal curse; my brother is A watching shepherd boy, who offers up The firstlings of the flock to him who bids The earth yield nothing to us without sweat; My sister Zillah sings an earlier hymn Than the birds' matins; and my Adah—my Own and belovéd — she, too, understands not The mind which overwhelms me : never till