Unhappy chief! Alas, thy cup was full of gall; Unto a foreign land thou sacrificedst all. The savage mob's dull glance of hate thou calmly balkedst, With thy great thoughts alone and silently thou walkedst; The people could not brook thy foreign-sounding name, Pursued thee with its yell, and piled thy head with shame, And by thy very hand though saved from ill and danger, Mock'd at thy sacred age--thou hoary-headed stranger! And even _he_, whose soul could read thy noble heart, To please that idiot mob, blamed thee with cruel art.... And long with patient faith, defying doubt and terror, Thou heldest on unmoved, spite of a people's error; And, e'er thy race was run, wert forced at last to yield The well-earned laurel-wreath of many a bloody field, Fame, power, and deep-thought plans; and with thy sword beside thee Within a regiment's ranks, alone, obscure, to hide thee, And there, a veteran chief, like some young sentinel, When first upon his ear rings the ball's whistling knell, Thou rushedst 'mid the fire, a warrior's death desiring-- In vain!-- * * * * * O men! O wretched race! O worthy tears and laughter! Priests of the moment's god, ne'er thinking of hereafter! How oft among ye, men! a mighty one is seen, Whom the blind age pursues with insults mad and mean, But gazing on whose face, some future generation Shall feel, as I do now, regret and admiration! SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS; BEING A SEQUEL TO THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. PART II. The Oxford visions, of which some have been given, were but anticipations necessary to illustrate the glimpse opened of childhood, (as being its reaction.) In this SECOND part, returning from that anticipation, I retrace an abstract of my boyish and youthful days so far as they furnished or exposed the germs of later experiences in worlds more shadowy.