Again toward our native land to be asunder torn.
The maiden of my love was rich--was rich--and I was poor;
A soulless menial shut on me her wealthy guardian's door.

"She knew it not, nor would I tell--tell! by the host of heaven,
My tongue became the sepulchre of sound!--my heart was riven.
I fled society and hope; the prison of my mind
A world of inexpressible and guilty thoughts confined.

"She was not wed--my hope returned; ambition my soul,
Sweeping round me like a fury, while the beacon and the goal
Of desire, ever turbulent and sleepless, was to have
The hand that mine had rescued from the fetters of a slave.

"I was an outcast on the earth, but braved my hapless lot;
And while I groaned impatiently, weak mortals heard it not.
A host of drear, unholy dreams did round my pillow haunt,
While my days spent in loneliness were darkened o'er with want.

"At length blind fortune favoured me--my breast to joy awoke;
And then he who had left me on the isolated rock,
I met within a distant land; nor need I further tell,
But that we _met_ as equals there, and my antag'nist fell.

"Awhile I brooded on his death; and gloomily it brought
A desolateness round me, stamping guilt on every thought.
I trembling found how bloodily my vengeance was appeased,
At what vile price my bosom was of _jealousy_ released.

"For still the breathing of his name by her I lov'd had rung