205 
 
 
 
 
 
LE VAMPIRE 
 
O THOU, who like a dagger-stroke 
 Art planted in my plaintive heart, 
Who art come hither like a flock 
 Of fiends, by mad and gilded art 
 
Come, of this dark soul and discrowned 
 To make thy bed and thy domain— 
Vile wretch to whom my life is bound 
 Even as a convict to his chain, 
 
Even as a gambler to his game, 
 Even as a drunkard to his thirst, 
Even as a harlot to her shame— 
 Be thou accurst, accurst, accurst !   
 
I prayed the falchion’s fiery craft 
 To win my freedom in a trice ;   
And called the treacherous poison-draught 
 To master me my cowardice. 
 
Alas !  Alas !  disdaining me, 
 Both sword and poison mock my mood :   
“ Unworthy !  how deliver thee 
 From thine accursed servitude