SOLILOQUY
.
—
What
folly
to
complain
,
Or
throw
my
woes
against
the
face
of
Heaven
?
Ills
,
self-created
,
prey
upon
my
soul
,
And
rob
each
coming
hour
of
soften'd
Peace
.
What
then
?
Is
Fate
to
blame
?
I
chose
distress
;
Free
will
was
mine
;
I
might
have
still
been
happy
From
a
fore-knowledge
of
the
dire
effect
,
And
the
sad
bondage
of
resistless
love
.
I
knew
the
struggles
of
a
wounded
mind
,
Not
self-indulging
,
and
not
prone
to
vice
,
Knew
all
the
terrors
of
conflicting
passion
,
Too
stubborn
foe
,
and
ever
unsubdued
;
Yet
rashly
parley'd
with
the
mighty
victor
.
Infectious
mists
upon
my
senses
hang
,
More
deadly
than
Lethean
dews
which
fall
From
Somnus'
bough
,
on
the
poor
wearied
wretch
,
Whose
woes
are
fully
told
!
—
The
dire
contagion
creeps
thro'
all
my
frame
,
Seizes
my
heart
,
and
drinks
my
spirit
up
.
Ah
!
fatal
poison
,
whither
dost
thou
tend
?
Tear
not
my
soul
with
agonizing
pains
;
There
needs
no
more
;
the
world
to
me
is
lost
,
And
all
the
whirl
of
life-unneeded
thrift
.
I
sicken
at
the
Sun
,
and
fly
his
beams
,
Like
some
sad
ghost
which
loves
the
moonless
night
,
And
pensive
shuns
the
morn
.
The
deep
recess
Where
dim-ey'd
Melancholy
silent
sits
,
Beckoning
the
poor
desponding
slighted
wretch
,
Suits
well
.
'Tis
here
I
find
a
gloomy
rest
;
'Tis
here
the
fool's
loud
clatter
leaves
me
still
,
Nor
force
unwilling
answers
to
their
tale
:
But
,
ah
!
this
gloom
,
this
lethargy
of
thought
,
Yields
not
repose
;
I
sigh
the
hour
away
;
The
next
rolls
on
,
and
leaves
me
still
opprest
.
But
,
oh
!
swift-footed
Time
,
thou
ceaseless
racer
,
Thou
who
hast
chac'd
five
thousand
years
before
thee
,
With
all
their
great
events
,
and
minute
trifles
,
Haste
,
with
redoubled
speed
,
bring
on
the
hour
,
When
dark
Oblivion's
dusky
veil
shall
shroud
Too
painful
Memory
.
—