THE hopes that allured me
To cope with the worst,
At length have secured me
The tortures accurst,
Of fever and grief,
And frenzy-in brief
Ills-ills from which Death is the only relief.


But Titan-like lieth
My soul in her chains-
Hourly she sigheth,
The answer she gains,
But adds night and day
To pain and dismay-
'Tis the scream of the vulture despair at his prey.