Poems (Lambert)/The Opium-eater
THE OPIUM-EATER.
[Before taking a dose.]
LIFE'S pathway to me is dreary;I am ill, and cold, and weary;Would my lonely walk were done,And my heavenly race begun!
Once all things to me were bright,Things that now seem dark as night:Is the darkness all within?Dark without from inward sin?
The present dark; eyes dim with ageCan see no joy, save memory's page.The present, future, ne'er can beBright as the past they once did see.
My hair is turning quite grey now;I see some wrinkles on my brow;My teeth—they must be failing too,—And corns are growing in my shoe.
I muffle up my aching face,And pray from pangs a moment's grace.Ah! now the misery seeks my head—Would I were with the pangless dead!
There is a cure for pain and grief—Come, Opium, come to my relief!Soothed by thy influence, I shall findA moment's rest, and peace of mind.
[After taking a dose.]
Ah! now I sit in bowers of bliss,Soothed by an angel's balmy kiss!Delicious languor o'er me stealingIs now my only sense of feeling.
The breath of flowers perfumes the air;The forms around are—oh, so fair!The once cold air seems warm and bright,And I, too, seem a being of light.
My hair is not so very grey—Some dye will take that hue away;A little powder shall, I vow,Hide the small wrinkles on my brow.
My teeth are sound—I feel no pain—Their slight ache was but sign of rain;And then the twinging of my feetWas nothing but a dream, a cheat.
To me, the night, though dark, seems day,Colored by Hope's most beauteous ray:No sorrow hence shall give me pain—I know I'll never weep again!