Distraction

Mercy!—I know it not—for I am miserable. I'll give thee misery—for here she dwells, This is her house—where the sun never dawns; The bird of night sits screaming o'er the roof; Grim spectres sweep along the horrid gloom; And nought is heard, but wailings and lamenting.— Hark!—something cracks above!—it shakes!—it totters!— And see—the nodding ruin falls to crush me!— 'Tis fallen—'tis here!—I feel it on my brain!— A waving flood of blueish fire swells o'er me!— And now 'tis out—and I am drown'd in blood.— Ha! what art thou? thou horrid headless trunk!— It is my Hastings—See, he wafts me on! Away I go!—I fly!—I follow thee!