Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o'er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.
No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens' cry.
Yes! I've resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I'll rush a dagger through
Though I in hell should rue it!
To ease me of this power to think,
That through my bosom raves,
I'll headlong leap from hell's high brink
And wallow in its waves.
The author is believed to be A. Lincoln. (subscription required)
Here's Lincoln on his depression:
"I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth. Whether I shall ever be better I can not tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me."
He decided to be better, though it was a life long struggle for him. Joshua Wolf Shenk makes a persuasive argument that his struggle made him the great leader he was. Could we ever have a Lincoln in the age of Prozac?
posted by Sydney on 8/30/2005 04:50:00 PM 0 comments