A Voice From The Dungeon

I'm buried now; I've done with life;     I've done with hate, revenge and strife;     I've done with joy, and hope and love     And all the bustling world above.     Long have I dwelt forgotten here     In pining woe and dull despair;     This place of solitude and gloom     Must be my dungeon and my tomb.     No hope, no pleasure can I find:     I am grown weary of my mind;     Often in balmy sleep I try     To gain a rest from misery,     And in one hour of calm repose     To find a respite from my woes,     But dreamless sleep is not for me     And I am still in misery.     I dream of liberty, 'tis true,     But then I dream of sorrow too,     Of blood and guilt and horrid woes,     Of tortured friends and happy foes;     I dream about the world, but then     I dream of fiends instead of men;     Each smiling hope so quickly fades     And such a lurid gloom pervades     That world -- that when I wake and see     Those dreary phantoms fade and flee,     Even in my dungeon I can smile,     And taste of joy a little while.     And yet it is not always so;     I dreamt a little while ago     That all was as it used to be:     A fresh free wind passed over me;     It was a pleasant summer's day,     The sun shone forth with cheering ray,     Methought a little lovely child     Looked up into my face and smiled.     My heart was full, I wept for joy,     It was my own, my darling boy;     I clasped him to my breast and he     Kissed me and laughed in childish glee.     Just them I heard in whisper sweet     A well known voice my name repeat.     His father stood before my eyes;     I gazed at him in mute surprise,     I thought he smiled and spoke to me,     But still in silent ecstasy     I gazed at him; I could not speak;     I uttered one long piercing shriek.     Alas! Alas! That cursed scream     Aroused me from my heavenly dream;     I looked around in wild despair,     I called them, but they were not there;     The father and the child are gone,     And I must live and die alone.