Part XVII

Had he been sleeping and woke up just now?
Or had he insane been and had he just
Regained his senses? Had he all these months
Been crazed and wild?... Sylvester knew it not.
He tried to think it out and thought and thought
What could have happened to him and where was he?
He looked around, but could not see a thing,
A darkness most intense encircleth him.

Then to himself he said: "It must be night.

I was asleep and must have had a dream,
I only half remember what I dreamt.
It was an awful dream, I will not tell
My wife about it, why disquiet her?
Ah! if the morn would dawn! What awful night
I had; the darkest in my life. Doest sleep
Good wife? Doest sleep my love? She heard me not,
She surely sleeps. Sleep well beloved one...
And still dawn does not break. When will it come?
This heavy, stifling air is choking me.
.Rise golden dawn and show thy radiant face,
Or send at least ahead one tiny ray!...
Oh! how my forehead burns, as if my head
A volcan were and I fear it must burst."
To wipe his sweating brow he raised his hand.
The rattling clanking sound the fetters made,
Brought to his mind the truth. He well
remembered all.
And like the wind sweeps through some ruined

church
A cold chill passes through his shattered frame.

He well remembered all: how he was seized
While in the street and carried off by force,
Was not allowed to say a last good-bye
To wife and child, was not allowed to look
Into their eyes so sweet, his only bliss,
To him his only wealth and happiness.
And now he 's here within the prison walls,
A subterranean hole,— who knows how deep,—
More deep then are the graves wherein decay
The buried dead within a churchyard's space.
When will he see again the shining sun?
When will he see again his wife and child?
It might be ne'er again. Why is he here.
Within this ominous and cursed place?
Because of what his God hath given him.
He gave to men. by telling them the truth:
There is one common good wherein all men
Must share alike and that this common good
Is freedom! — He. his fellow men deprives
Of e'en a particle of freedom's boon
Commits a deadly sin. such man to kill
Is right, — nay more. — a duty even is

""Saint freedom 'tis for thee I suffer here."
Said dolefully the wretched prisoner.
"Stood I alone in life as I for years
Have stood, without a tie of loyal love
'To wife and child. I'd sit upon this bench
Of stone all calm and I would be as proud
As the usurping king is on his throne.
I'd wear these prison chains with as much pride
As in the by gone days I wore the ring
My darling bride-to-be had given me.
But I have family, a wife and child.
What will become of them now I am gone.
Who will provide for them the daily bread
And loving care they need? Oh, heart of mine
If into stone you can not turn, why not
Be rent in twain and break and end it all?"
He furiously raved and raged and wept.
But the dense darkness that surrounded him
Remained unmoved, and slowly, by degrees,
He calmer grew, his worn out soul succumbed
And he became as placid and composed
As was the lifeless stone on which he sat,
And gloomy as the darkness all around.
To all sensation dead, in deepest thought

He pondered o'er his plight. His mind
But flitted low as flits a winged bird.
"Tell me, my prison, who to the coffin
Art twin, who built thee? Who will pull thee down?
When wert thou built? How long yet wilt thou

stand?
Who sat upon this stone before my time?
A martyr like myself was here confined,
A highway robber or a murderer?
Did moulder here his bones, or did he see
Again our God-Almighty's beauteous world;
A:h me! the world is beautiful indeed,
The forests and the fields, the hills and vales,
The flowers and the stars, indeed are fair.
Who knows, will it be given me to see
Them once again, or see them after years.
When e'en their names shall from my mind have

passed?
It may be that I shall be here a year, —
Each moment seemeth an eternity.
And time drags slowly as the mendicant
Who on his crutches slowly moves about.
One year! Suppose they keep me here ten years?
Or twenty years, or even longer still?
Come up to me all ye departed souls
Who once did suffer heire. Let's talk a while,
Instruct me how to pass the time down here.
Who knows? I may be dead and only dream
—What awful dream! — within my grave! Who knows
It might well be that I am still alive,
Was buried here alive. Oh no! I'm dead,
The heart-beats I still here are nothing else
Than the convulsions of my dying, soul."

At last he stopped even to ruminate.

His heart and mind insensible had grown.
And there he sat, more motionless than is
A statue hewn of stone. He only glared
Into the night with which his prison was filled.
His limbs grew numb he seemed his mind to lose.
His head grew weighty and lengthwise he fell
Upon the stony floor. Was he asleep?
Or had he fainted? For a time he lay
There motionless, he seemed not e'en to breathe
When all at once, as if by bullet struck
Or red-hot iron touched, with sudden jump
He leaped up and with such heartrending voice
That e'en the cold walls of his prison moaned
It back, he cried out: "Stop! Oh! do not go!"

And longingly he raised his outstretched arms.

Long stood he thus, then slowly dropped his arms
And sank into his seat, the tear-drops rolled
From both his eyes and in a voice as though
His soul were moaning, dolefully he groaned:
"She would not stop, she's gone, all's at an end."

What ailed him? What was it? Who would not stop?
What was it that had ended? Did he dream? : . --i

He did not dream. That was not a mere dream,
Something that could not possibly be true,
For it was true... As he was lying there
A female form appeared before him, whom
He recognized as his beloved wife.
She bent to him and whispered in his ear:
"My sufferings are o'er! God bless you dear!"
And pressed a loving kiss upon his brow.

'T was then he leaped up. When ope were his

eyes,
He still could see his wife, just for a trice,
And then she disappeared. His prison which
Had been surcharged with light, grew dark again,
Dark as the night after a lightning's flash.

"My sufferings are o'er, God bless you dear",
Repeated he, the message he had heard.
"That's what she said to me in dulcet tones
I'll no more hear. My sufferings are o'er,
God bless you dear''. Well then, God bless you dear!
Ihe foliage of my soul you have been,
Of which it had been stripped by stormy wind.
Why did it not uproot, destroy me too?
What earthly use am I, a crownless tree?
W;here did the tempest's wings deposit you
To find you if indeed it be my share
To find you once again and withered though
You be, I might exhale my life's last breath
While near your blest remains. I care no more
For ought in life, no aim in life have I,
You made life worth the pain, through you, for you
I lived, you were the goddess I adored,
You, all alone, were sweet reality.
Ihe rest in life?Freedom, — humanity —
All were but hollow phrases, phantom dreams,
For which the fools would never cease to fight,
You, all alone, were sweet reality,
You were the goddess of my love and life,
Forevermore I have lost even you.
Did like a mole I burrow through the earth
I'll nevermore find you, you turned to dust,
Commingling with the earth like other dust
Not e'en discernible whether a plant's
Or animal's your ashes are. I'd bear
This most gigantic burden till my death
If but a last good-bye I could have said,
Only one small word could have said to her.
It could not be! It is all finished now,
God would not grant me my last fervid prayer."
"How cruel is God. Men bend their knees to Him,
Call Him their Heavenly Father, while in truth
A Tyrant He! I curse Thee God! Up there
Thou sittest on Thy throne in majesty,
Unfeeling, as are tyrants of this earth.
Thou reignest proudly and each day which dawns
Thou paintest new with rays of rising sun
And with the blood of broken human hearts
The faded purple of Thy royal sheen.
Be cursed tyrannical oppressor Thou!
As Thou denied me I deny Thee now!
I am no more thy slave, take back the life
Which, — as it were charity's kind alms, —
Thou gavest me. Give it to some one else.
Let some one else endure it if he can.
I hurl it back at thee. Oh, that my throw
Might break it like a piece of useless clay."
The prisoner shrieked so loud this awful curse
It seemed to frighten e'en the darkness which
Surrounded him. Insanely furious
He knocked his head against the wall. The wall
Resounded with a thud as if it had
Been wounded far more than the bleeding head.
There lies the prisoner upon the stone.
He is not dead. He lives. His bitter life
Is so welded to him as is inbred
The most appalling pain to his poor soul,
And endless darkness to his prison cell.