The Demon of Lermontoff

A SPIRIT fallen from the realms of light Above this dim world winged his weary flight, For memories came crowding thick and fast Of vanished splendours and delights long past. — How erst, a Cherub bright, he loved to race With fiery comets through the fields of space; No mists could blind, no clouds his progress bar, He followed knowledge on from star to star. Creation’s heir, the first-born of all time, He loved, he trusted in that happy prime. Ah, little recked he safe from doubts and fears, The sad monotony of coming years, Trouble on trouble, pain succeeding pain — Tortures that racked his ever-teeming brain. Long had he wandered without goal or aim Through the dull round of centuries still the same, Ruling this puny world, and sowing ill, Ceaseless, resistless, unenjoying still.