Like Atlas with a world upon my back —
My heart's almost worn out — could any see
Within my bosom, they would ken the track
Which sorrow there has made; I cannot flee
From thoughts which crush my soul upon the rack
O! what a curse is immortality!
We feel it but in pain, when Fate's attack
Leaves the mind vanquished, but to suffer still
Such tortures from the despot. Memory
As Hope despairs of healing. Human ill
Is with our nature linked eternally.
Man and misfortune are twin-born — I feel
This to be true, at least 'twas so with me!