And first, before they sent me forth, Through this unpitying World to run, They robb’d _Sir Eustace_ of his Worth, Lands, Manors, Lordships, every one; So was that gracious Man undone, Was spurn’d as vile, was scorn’d as poor, Whom every former Friend would shun, And Menials drove from every Door. Then those ill-favour’d Ones[17], whom none But my unhappy Eyes could view, Led me, with wild Emotion on, And, with resistless Terror, drew. Through Lands we fled, o’er Seas we flew, And halted on a boundless Plain; Where nothing fed, nor breath’d nor grew, But Silence rul’d the still Domain. Upon that boundless Plain, below, The setting Sun’s last Rays were shed, And gave a mild and sober Glow, Where all were still, asleep or dead; Vast Ruins in the midst were spread, Pillars and Pediments sublime, Where the grey Moss had form’d a Bed, And cloth’d the crumbling Spoils of Time. There was I fix’d, I know not how, Condemn’d for untold Years to stay; Yet Years were not;--one dreadful _Now_, Endur’d no Change of Night or Day; The same mild Evening’s sleeping Ray, Shone softly-solemn and serene. And all that time, I gaz’d away, The setting Sun’s sad Rays were seen. At length a Moment’s Sleep stole on,-- Again came my commission’d Foes; Again through Sea and Land we’re gone, No Peace, no Respite, no Repose; Above the dark broad Sea we rose, We ran through bleak and frozen Land; I had no Strength, their Strength t’ oppose, An Infant in a Giant’s hand. They plac’d me where those Streamers play, Those nimble Beams of brilliant Light; It would the stoutest Heart dismay, To see, to feel, that dreadful Sight: So swift, so pure, so cold, so bright, They pierc’d my Frame with icy Wound, And all that half-year’s polar Night, Those dancing Streamers wrapt me round. Slowly that Darkness pass’d away, When down upon the Earth I fell,-- Some hurried Sleep, was mine by day; But soon as toll’d the Evening Bell, They forc’d me on, where-ever dwell Far-distant Men in Cities fair, Cities of whom no Travellers tell, Nor Feet but mine were Wanderers there. Their Watchmen stare, and stand aghast, As on we hurry through the dark; The Watch-light blinks, as we go past, The Watch-dog shrinks and fears to bark; The Watch-tower’s Bell sounds shrill; and, hark! The free Wind blows--we’ve left the Town-- A wide Sepulchral Ground I mark, And on a Tomb-stone place me down.