LXXXVII.

By such wrong and woe exhausted--what I suffered and occasioned,-- As a wild horse through a city runs with lightning in his eyes, And then dashing at a church's cold and passive wall, impassioned, Strikes the death into his burning brain, and blindly drops and dies--

LXXXVIII.

So I fell, struck down before her--do you blame me, friend, for weakness? 'T was my strength of passion slew me!--fell before her like a stone; Fast the dreadful world rolled from me on its roaring wheels of blackness: When the light came I was lying in this chamber and alone.