REVISED AND ADAPTED BY FRANK H. FENNO.
[The following temperance reading or recitation is a union of Rum's Maniac by T. W. Nott, and The Rum Fiend, written by William H. Burleigh and published by J. N. Stearns of New York. Having secured full permission to use the Rum Fiend for this purpose, The Rum Maniac is presented as a powerful and effective reading.]
I saw through the grates of a prison door,
Handcuffed and chained to the granite floor,
A man whose maniac eyes did glare
Through the tangled veil of his matted hair;
For the hot blood throbbed through every vein,
And the fires of madness scorched his brain,
And phantom fiends, a ghastly train,
With every loathly seeming,
Came crowding in pairs-in flocks-in swarms
With laughters and curses, and taunts and jeers,
To torture his soul and to deafen his ears,-
And he gnawed his tongue in his fierce despair,
And howled a curse, or muttered a prayer,
Whose sad refrain was ever,
Blood! blood! It foams in the cursed bowl!
It is on my hands! It stains my soul!
It crimsons the sky
With its terrible dye,
And the earth which drank it cries 'More! give more!
My thirst for the vintage of murder is sort.
Let it flow-let it swell to a river!""
Then, in accents soft and low,
Murmured he his tale of woe:
"Did I slay thee, dearest wife?
Thee?-oh! better loved than life
Thee, whose smile was like the light
Flashing o'er my being's night,
Making what was dark and dull
Beautiful-how beautiful!
Thee, whose voice was like a bird's,
Musical with loving words;
And whose heart poured out for me
Love, exhaustless as the sea,
Fresh as Eden's morning air,
Guileless as a seraph's prayer,
Pure as is the purest gem
In the New Jerusalem!
Did I slay thee? Nay; though mine
Was the hand that dealt the blow,
'Twas the demon in the wine
That has wrought this utter woe!
Curses on the wretch who gave
Me the draught and thee a grave!"
By his side a good man knelt to pray,
And strove to lure his soul away
From its fancies dark to the hope of heaven;
But still to his every word of prayer
Some imp would mutter, "Despair! despair!"'
Till every wave of the pulsing air
He deemed was stirred
By a single word
Reiterant ever-" Despair! despair!"
And the wretch gasped faintly, "Too late! too late! I have wooed, so leave me to wed my fate
Bereft of hope and reprobate,
To die unshrined, unforgiven !"
"Nay," said the man of God, "His grace
Exceeds our guilt; none seek his face
Through penitence and prayer in vain."
From his couch the maniac leaped, his hand
Stretched with a gesture of command,
And with a hoarse voice, whose intense
Yet fierce and passionate eloquence
Thrilled through the hearer's heart and brain,
While the beaded sweat on his forehead stood,
And the foam on his lips was tinged with blood,
He said, in his wild, despairing mood:
Vex me no more with idle prayer!
For other ears your sermons keep!
I know the whole of hell's despair-
Through all my veins its horrors creep!
I stand within its burning caves,
Beyond the reach of Mercy's call,
And hear the dash of fiery waves
Against its adamantine wall!
Why am I thus? the maniac cried,
Confined 'mid crazy people? Why?
I am not mad-knave, stand aside!
I'll have my freedom, or I'll die;
It's not for cure that here I've come;
I tell thee, all I want is rum—
I must have rum!
Sane? yes, and have been all the while;
Why, then, tormented thus? 'Tis sad:
Why chained, and held in duress vile?
The men who brought me here were mad;
I will not stay where spectres come;
Let me go home; I must have rum,—
I must have rum!
'Tis he! 'tis he! my aged sire!
What has disturbed thee in thy grave? Why bend on me that eye of fire?
Why torment, since thou canst not save? Back to the churchyard whence you've comet Return, return! but send me rum
Why is my mother musing there,
On that same consecrated spot
Where once she taught me words of prayer?
But now she hears, she heeds me not.
Mute in her winding-sheet she stands;
Cold, cold, I feel her icy hands,—
Her icy hands!
She's vanished; but a dearer friend-
I know her by her angel smile-
Has come her partner to attend,
His hours of misery to beguile;
Haste, haste! loved one, and set me free;
'Twere heaven to 'scape from hence to thee,-
From hence to thee.
It won't wash out, that crimson stain!
I've scoured those spots, and made them white;
Blood reappears again, again,
Soon as the morning brings the light!
When from my sleepless couch I come,
To see, to feel-oh, give me rum!
I must have rum.
'Twas there I heard his piteous cry,
And saw his last imploring look;
But steeled my heart, and bade him die,
Then from him golden treasures took;
Accursed treasure! stinted sum!
Reward of guilt! Give, give me rum,
Oh, give me rum!
Hark! still I hear that piteous wail;
Before my eyes his spectre stands;
And when it frowns on me I quail!
Oh, I would fly to other lands;
But, that pursuing, there 'twould come;
There's no escape! Oh, give me rum,—
Oh, give me rum!
Guard, guard those windows! bar that door!
Yonder I armed bandits see!
They've robbed my house of all its store,
And now return to murder me;
They're breaking in; don't let them come!
Drive, drive them hence! but give me rum,-
Oh, give me rum!
See how that rug those reptiles soil;
They're crawling o'er me in my bed;
I feel their clammy, snaky coil
On every limb-around my head; With forked tongue I see them play; I hear them hiss-tear them away,Tear them away!
A fiend! a fiend, with many a dart,
Glares on me with his bloodshot eye,
And aims his missiles at my heart-
Oh! whither, whither shall I fly?
Fly? No, it is no time for flight;
I know thy wicked purpose well;
Avaunt! avaunt, thou hated sprite,
And hie thee to thy native hell!
He's gone, he's gone! and I am free:
He's gone, the faithless, braggart liar.
He said he'd come to summon me―
See there again, my bed's on fire!
Fire! water! help! Oh haste, I die!
The flames are kindling round my head!
This smoke!-I'm strangling!—cannot fly!
Oh! snatch me from this burning bed!
There, there again! that demon's there,
Crouching to make a fresh attack;
See how his flaming eyeballs glare!
Thou fiend of fiends, what's brought thee back?
Back in thy car? for whom? for where?
He smiles, he beckons me to come:
What are those words thou'st written there?
"In hell they never want for rum !"
Not want for rum? Read that again!
I feel the spell! haste, drive me down
Where rum is free, where revellers reign,
And I can wear the drunkard's crown.
Accept thy proffer, fiend? I will;
And to thy drunken banquet come;
Fill the great caldron from thy still
With boiling, burning, fiery rum.
There will I quench this horrid thirst;
With boon companions drink and dwell,
Nor plead for rum, as here I must-
There's liberty to drink in hell.
Thus raved the maniac rum had made;
Then, starting from his haunted bed,
On, on! ye demons, on! he said,
Then silent sunk,—his soul had fled.
Scoffer, beware! he in that shroud
Was once a temperate drinker, too,
And felt as safe, declaimed as loud
Against intemperance as you;
And yet, ere long, I saw him stand
Refusing, on the brink of hell,
A pardon from his Saviour's hand,
Then plunging down with fiends to dwell.
From thence, methinks, I hear him say,
"Dash down the chalice, break the spell,
Stop while you can and where you may;
There's no escape when once in hell."
O God, thy gracious spirit send
That we the mocker's snares may fly,
And thus escape that dreadful end-
That death eternal drunkards die.
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