Then other thoughts-- Thoughts of myself and of my destiny-- Succeeded. Who and what was I? A youth, Doomed by hereditary taint to crime, A youth whose every artery and vein Was doubly charged with suicidal blood. When the full consciousness of what I was Possessed my thought, and I gazed down the abyss God had prepared for me, I shrank aghast; And there in silence, with an awful oath I dare not write, I swore my will was mine, And mine my hand; and that, though all the fiends That cumber hell and overrun the earth Should spur the deadly impulse of my blood, And heaven withhold the aid I would not ask; Though woes unnumbered should beset my life, And reason fall, and uttermost despair Hold me a hopeless prisoner in its glooms, I would resist and conquer, and live out My complement of years. My bosom burned With fierce defiance, and the angry blood Leaped from my heart, and boomed within my brain With throbs that stunned me, though each fiery thrill Was charged with tenderness for her whose head Was pillowed on its riot. Long I sat-- How long, I know not--but at last the sad, Hysteric sobs and suspirations ceased, Or only at wide intervals recurred; And then I rose, and to her waiting bed Led my doomed mother. With a cheerful voice-- Cheerful as I could summon--and a kiss, I bade her a good night and pleasant dreams; And then, across the hall, I sought my room Where neither sleep nor dream awaited me, But only blasphemous, black thoughts, and strife With God and Destiny. I saw it all: The lamp that from my mother's window beamed, Illumined other nights and other storms, And by its lurid light revealed to me The secrets of a life. Her sudden pangs, Her brooding woes, her terrors when alone, The strange surrender of her will to mine, Her hunger for my presence, and her fear That by some slip of fortune she should lose Her hold on me, were followed to their home-- To her poor heart, that fluttered every hour With conscious presence of an enemy That would not be expelled, and strove to spill The life it spoiled. From that eventful night She was not left alone. I called a friend, A cheerful lady, whose companionship Was music, medicine and rest; and she, Wanting a home, and with a ready wit Learning my mother's need and my desire, Assumed the place of matron in the house; And, in return for what we gave to her, Gave us herself. My mother's confidence, By her self-confidence, she quickly won; And thus, though sadly burdened at my heart, I found one burden lifted from my hands. More liberty of movement and of toil I needed; for the time was drawing near When I should turn my feet toward other halls, To seek maturer study, and complete The work of culture faithfully begun.