Lament of Tasson

Long years! — It tries the thrilling frame to bear 
And eagle-spirit of a Child of Song — 
Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong; 
Imputed madness, prison'd solitude, 
And the mind's canker in its savage mood, 
When the impatient thirst of light and air 
Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate, 
Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade, 
Works through the throbbing eyeball to the brair 
With a hot sense of heaviness and pain; 
And bare, at once, Captivity display'd 
Stands scoffing through the never-open'd gate, 
Which nothing through its bars admits, save day, 
And tasteless food, which I have eat alone 
Till its unsocial bitterness is gone; 
And I can banquet like a beast of prey, 
Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave 
Which is my lair, and — it may be — my grave. 
All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear, 
But must be borne. I stoop not to despair; 
For I have battled with mine agony, 
And made me wings wherewith to overfly 
The narrow circus of my dungeon wall, 
And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall; 
And revell'd among men and things divine, 
And pour'd my spirit over Palestine, 
In honor of the sacred war for Him, 
The God who was on earth and is in heaven, 
For he hath strengthen'd me in heart and limb. 
That through this sufferance I might be forgiven, 
I have employ'd my penance to record 
How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored. 

But this is o'er — my pleasant task is done: — 
My long-sustaining friend of many years! 
If I do blot thy final page with tears, 
Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none. 
But thou, my young creation! my soul's child! 
Which ever playing round me came and smiled 
And woo'd me from myself with that sweet sight, 
Thou too art gone — and so is my delight: 
And therefore do I weep and inly bleed 
With this last bruise upon a broken reed.