My tongue goes as grief guides it, and I stray

My tongue goes as grief guides it, and I stray Already in my grief without a guide; We both must go, howe'er dissatisfied, With hasty step in an unwished-for way. I, but companioned by the dark array Of images that frenzy does create, And that, as forced along by grief to state A thousand things it never wished to say. The law to me is most severe—it knows My innocence, yet makes not mine alone, But others' faults, my torturers! why should I Smart for the madness of my tongue, when woes Beyond endurance lift the lash on high, And Reason trembles on her tottering throne?