The Maniac

What wilt thou now—why trouble me?Away! away! away with thee;I'm busy! I'm busy! so leave me alone—I'm twisting a whip—a fire-whip of my own—I'm twisting it out of the rays of the sun,And will scourge all the world when my labour is done;It will howl—I shall laugh—ha! ha! hear!—ha! ha! hear!It laughed, when I howl'd: "The avenger is near;"I know what it means—this world's screaming and scowling—'Tis howling and laughter—'tis laughter and howling;And then comes death's messenger, whispering "Be still!"Did I not die? Am I not dead?Death—was it death—or death's phantom instead?They drenched my wine with poison, thenForced me to drink that wine again;Death's angels shrieking round with voices shrill.My murderers! Tell me what they did to hideTheir foul—foul crime?They poured their death-shrieks out on every side,Looked pale and wept aloud—I could have started from my cerement shroud,Bitten the nose from each false face to showThe fraudful mark—but no!I bide my time.Let them preserve their noses and their smell,And in their nostrils stinking let me dwellTill I am buried—buried where? Ha! ha!In Africa!In Africa! there would I rest, for thereShall a hyena shield me in his lair;And be my benefactor—he will say—"I will devour thee."—"Well! you may—you may,"I'll answer, and my heart I'll fling him; heShall spring upon it—'twill so bitter be,That he shall, poisoned, die in agony.Look!—ha! ha! ha!—this is the fit reward,For those who serve mankind, serve men; and what are men?A something rooted in the dusty sward,With branches towering upwards—No! no! no!It is not so—I answer No! again.'Tis true, man is a tree, whose deep, deep rootAscends from hell:I heard a learned sage his history tell,—He was a fool, and yet without disputeHis tale was true,—the sage was naked, poor—Why did he not break thro' some rich man's doorAnd steal—and steal?—the fool! and am not IAs great a fool to be inquiring why?No! better far to weep—unsolaced—sad—The world it is so bad;But heaven has wept enough from weeping clouds.That such a world God for its maker had,Who His regrets in dark repentance shrouds;And what avail heaven's tears for grace or good?They fall on earth, man tramples them to mud—To mud—ha ha!—to mud.O heaven! O heaven! thy soldier, he has doneHis duty, for a victor-wreath the sun,For vestments the bright clouds were promised—heHath won his victory.And now, and now, the exhausted soldier wearsThe brass cross which his ragged waistcoat bears;And is this all? Come hither, ye who drawLessons of wisdom—ask the solemn dawWhat it all means—he answers, "Caw! caw! caw!"Cry—measure woman! fly her fatal ban,Woman that draws that master-subject—man,Like the lost river in the absorbing sea,Sucked in both spirit and shape—a mystery—Creation's greatest mystery is she;A blooming garden, both in body and soulHow lovely—but a lecherous, leprous whole;In her fair hand she holds a golden cup—'Tis poison—drink it up!O love! O extasy of love! I drankThe poison, in delight, delirium sank;One drop is sweeter, dearer, more divineThan deepest oceans filled with honied wine;And yet one drop more fatal, poisonous, moreThan seas impregnated with hellebore;I saw those seas the wild tornadoes move,Wrecked ships, drowned sailors' corpses, float above;Death and destruction,—play-things,ha! ha! ha!The ripe fruit falls, and thou, thou perishing worldArt ripe to rottenness, and shalt be hurledTo ruin, with a dread anathema!The curse is on thee—Perish! shall I waitUntil to-morrow wakes; but if to-morrowWrite not the last page of my shame and sorrow,I'll bury me within thine entrails straight;And to thy fires bring pyramids of powder,And there explode in thunderbolts, but louder;Flung up to heaven midst planet, star, and sun—You hear me—ha! ha! ha!—the work is done.