And if I strike my damp and dizzy head,
My hot palm scorches it; her very name,
But spoken by a stranger, makes my heart
Sicken and pant; and thus unprofitably 140
I clasp the phantom of unfelt delights
Till weak imagination half possesses
The self-created shadow. Yet much longer
Will I not nurse this life of feverous hours.
From the unravelled hopes of Giacomo
I must work out my own dear purposes.
I see, as from a tower, the end of all:
Her father dead; her brother bound to

me

By a dark secret, surer than the grave; Her mother scared and unexpostulating 150

Is changed to vapors such as the dead
breathe
In charnel-pits! Pah! I am choked!
There creeps

A clinging, black, contaminating mist
About me 't is substantial, heavy, thick;
I cannot pluck it from me, for it glues
My fingers and my limbs to one another, 20
And eats into my sinews, and dissolves
My flesh to a pollution, poisoning
The subtle, pure, and inmost spirit of life!
My God! I never knew what the mad felt
Before; for I am mad beyond all doubt!
(More wildly)

No, I am dead! These putrefying limbs
Shut round and sepulchre the panting soul
Which would burst forth into the wander-
ing air!
(A pause)
What hideous thought was that I had even

now?

29

'Tis gone; and yet its burden remains here O'er these dull eyes — upon this weary heart!