临终的安慰!父亲，这不是我(现在)的主题——我不会疯狂地相信尘世的力量会使我免除尘世的骄傲所沉溺的罪恶——我没有时间去溺爱或幻想:你管它叫希望——那火中的火!这不过是欲望的痛苦:如果我能希望——噢，上帝!我能——它的源泉更神圣——更神圣——我不会叫你傻瓜，老人，但这不是你的礼物。你知道一个灵魂的秘密吧，它已从野性的骄傲变成了耻辱。渴慕的心啊!我的确继承了你那枯萎的部分和名声，那在我宝座的宝石中闪耀的灼热的荣耀，地狱的光环!痛苦的地狱再也不能使我恐惧——渴望的心啊，为了我夏日里失去的花朵和阳光!那死去的时间的不朽的声音，带着它那无尽的钟声，在你的空虚中，以一种符咒的精神，敲响了一声丧钟。我并非一直都像现在这样:我曾夺去并篡夺了我额头上那狂热的王冠——难道罗马不也有同样凶猛的继承权赐给恺撒——赐给我吗? The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind. On mountain soil I first drew life: The mists of the Taglay have shed Nightly their dews upon my head, And, I believe, the winged strife And tumult of the headlong air Have nestled in my very hair. So late from Heaven- that dew- it fell (Mid dreams of an unholy night) Upon me with the touch of Hell, While the red flashing of the light From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er, Appeared to my half-closing eye The pageantry of monarchy, And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar Came hurriedly upon me, telling Of human battle, where my voice, My own voice, silly child!- was swelling (O! how my spirit would rejoice, And leap within me at the cry) The battle-cry of Victory! The rain came down upon my head Unshelter'd- and the heavy wind Rendered me mad and deaf and blind. It was but man, I thought, who shed Laurels upon me: and the rush- The torrent of the chilly air Gurgled within my ear the crush Of empires- with the captive's prayer- The hum of suitors- and the tone Of flattery 'round a sovereign's throne. My passions, from that hapless hour, Usurp'd a tyranny which men Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to power, My innate nature- be it so: But father, there liv'd one who, then, Then- in my boyhood- when their fire Burn'd with a still intenser glow, (For passion must, with youth, expire) E'en then who knew this iron heart In woman's weakness had a part. I have no words- alas!- to tell The loveliness of loving well! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose lineaments, upon my mind, Are- shadows on th' unstable wind: Thus I remember having dwelt Some page of early lore upon, With loitering eye, till I have felt The letters- with their meaning- melt To fantasies- with none. O, she was worthy of all love! Love- as in infancy was mine- 'Twas such as angel minds above Might envy; her young heart the shrine On which my every hope and thought Were incense- then a goodly gift, For they were childish and upright- Pure- as her young example taught: Why did I leave it, and, adrift, Trust to the fire within, for light? We grew in age- and love- together, Roaming the forest, and the wild; My breast her shield in wintry weather- And when the friendly sunshine smil'd, And she would mark the opening skies, I saw no Heaven- but in her eyes. Young Love's first lesson is- the heart: For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart, And laughing at her girlish wiles, I'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears- There was no need to speak the rest- No need to quiet any fears Of her- who ask'd no reason why, But turn'd on me her quiet eye! Yet more than worthy of the love My spirit struggled with, and strove, When, on the mountain peak, alone, Ambition lent it a new tone- I had no being- but in thee: The world, and all it did contain In the earth- the air- the sea- Its joy- its little lot of pain That was new pleasure- the ideal, Dim vanities of dreams by night- And dimmer nothings which were real- (Shadows- and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings, And, so, confusedly, became Thine image, and- a name- a name! Two separate- yet most intimate things. I was ambitious- have you known The passion, father? You have not: A cottager, I mark'd a throne Of half the world as all my o