Poor Matthew! Once of genius bright,--
A fortune-favored child--
Now locked for aye, in mental night,
A haggard mad-man wild.

Poor Matthew! I have ne'er forgot
When first with maddened will,
Yourself you maimed, your father fought,
And mother strove to kill;

And danger spread, and neighbors ran,
Your dang'rous strength to bind;
And soon a howling crazy man,
Your limbs were fast confined.

How then you writhed and shrieked aloud,
Your bones and sinews bared;
And fiendish on the gaping crowd,
with burning eye-balls glared.

And begged, and swore, and wept, and prayed,
With maniac laughter joined--
How fearful are the signs displayed,
By pangs that kill the mind!

And when at length, the drear and long
Time soothed your fiercer woes--
How plaintively your mournful song,
Upon the still night rose.