Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Frederick George Scott b. 1861Samson
P
Eyeless on this dungeon stone,
Naked, shaggy and unkempt,
Dreaming dreams no soul hath dreamt.
Play unharmed, companions sweet,
Spiders weave me overhead
Silken curtains for my bed.
Of this fungus-blistered cell;
Nightly in my haunted sleep
O’er my face the lizards creep.
Wrists and ankles when I turn,
And my collared neck is raw
With the teeth of brass that gnaw.
All my fierce captivity?
Do thy sinews feel my pains?
Hearest Thou the clanking chains?
Strong and buoyant as the air,
Tall and noble as a tree,
With the passions of the sea,
Fierce as lion in my heat,
Rending, like a wisp of hay,
All that dared withstand my way,
Of this subterranean tomb,—
Blinded tiger in his den,
Once the lord and prince of men?
With Thy thumb-nail smooth’dst my brow,
Roll’dst the spital-moistened sands
Into limbs between Thy hands.
Fury of the fire and flood,
And upon the boundless skies
Thou didst first unclose my eyes.
God-like from the source it came,
Whirling round like furious wind
Thoughts upgathered in the mind.
All my weakness was my strength;
Tortured am I, blind and wrecked,
For a faulty architect.
Was I woman-like to hide
What she asked me, as if fear
Could my iron heart come near?
Cowards who their tongues restrain;
Cared I no more for Thy laws
Than a wind of scattered straws.
And my blood was all aflame,
Who was I to lie, and cheat
Her who clung about my feet?
Wind and tempest, rain and snow;
Dost Thou curse them on their course,
For the fury of their force?
But the soul within is proud;
Dungeon fetters cannot still
Forces of the tameless will.
All my fierce captivity;
Let Thy sinews feel my pains,
With Thy fingers lift my chains.
Comfort Thou Thy rebel child,
And with lightning split in twain
Loveless heart and sightless brain.
Not this sickening dungeon breath,
Creeping down my blood like slime,
Till it wastes me in my prime.
Half my former rage and power,
And some giant crisis send
Meet to prove a hero’s end.
Crush him in the overthrow
At whose life they scorn and point,
By its greatness out of joint.