I sat beside the lonely man, on Cheviot's cloudless height;
Above our heads was glory, but beneath more glorious night;
For the sun was shining over us, but lightnings flashed below,
Like the felt and burning darkness of unutterable woe.
"I love, in such a place as this," the desolate began,
"To gaze upon the tempests wild that separate me from man;
To muse upon the passing things that agitate the world--
View myself as by a whirlwind to hopeless ruin hurled.
"My heart was avaricious once, like yours the slave of feeling--
Perish such hearts! vile dens of crime! man's selfishness concealing;
For self! damned self's creation's lord!--man's idol and his god!
Twas torn from me, a blasted, bruised, a cast off, worthless load.
"Some say there's wildness in my eyes, and others deem me crazed,
They, trembling, turn and shun my path--for which let Heaven be praised!
They say my words are blasphemy--they marvel at my fate,
When 'tis my happiness to know they _pity_ not, but _hate_.
"My father fell from peace and wealth the day that I was born--
My mother died, and he became his fellow-gambler's scorn;
I know not where he lived or died--I never heard his name--
An orphan in a workhouse, I was thought a child of shame.
"Some _friend_ by blood had lodged me there, and bought my keeper too,
Who pledged his oath he would conceal what of my tale he knew.
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