The comet. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1877-1882, 1880-05-01
HELL GATE.

Written by "Clinton" and recited by him at
the twenty-fith anniversary of the IIermenian
Society of Mississippi College:
Last night, when all was dark and deathly still,
lay upon my bed-well, twas no bed,
But straw that some good man--God bless his
head
Had given to me to lie upon; and i'll
I felt, for rad given my last to fill
This craving appetite, which called for drink
And when my ali was gone more to give
They drove me from the bar, and said, " Go! !
live
With dogs such as you are" All! sirs they think
cannot feel-so near to hells dark brink.
But while lay upon that couch Of hay,
The bitter tears, which long had ceased to flow
Did wet these burning cheeks and I altho
So drunk, could think, could know misiortuncs'
sway
Yet felt the blows that man gave me that day
But soon fell asleep-tho not to rest
The liquor which drank had crazed my brain.
had dream which did my limbs enchain,
And struck dark terror to this heart and breast
shriekcd, but could not move; all twas no jest.
And what it was | can't exactly tell
But something wierd and strange like demons
they,
Who came and laughed and stared nor went away
Until the dawn had come; and while they yell
And dance they seem to say "'Tis hell it's hell.'
With night the spectres fed, and left me here
To brood DER that dark dream and if | might,
t,nE oh tic
Within my brain--I cannot think-l swear
Pm going mad again And ths-a tear
And do play the child? Then I'm not mad
If can weep; o, days that once were mine
My friends, in me you see no trace, no line
OF what used to be, but all a sad,
Dark wreck of what was when life was glad.
All thro these years yet can see the place,
Where have knelt u thousand times to pray
Tbs simple prayer my lips were taught to say
By her whom 1 called mother; and her face
see; | still remember all that grace
And remember. too, how 'Ofs she knelt
At twilight's hour, beside my little bed,
And, only as mother can, there plead
That God would make her boy his own / felt
Her tears upon my cheek--my soul did melt.
And ,cre God saw it best to take that one,
was man Health, wealth. and all that heaven
Could give to make man blest, it had me given.
And then ere long, while yet kind Fortunes sun
Rose grandly DER my happy life, won
As mine the fairest flower of our town. All yes,
The purest love that woman e'er could give,
My Mary pledged to me, and bade me live
For her. Who then, to us, would dare to guess
Our life would know one grief to mar its bliss
But ah the temper came--th1 sparkling glass
Looked bright and merry in its depths l could
Not see the demon who would rob my food,
NV home my wife from me. drank, alas
And from that sip sad woes have come to pass,
And still the flowing amber wine grew sweet,
And something lured me to its halls But oit'
Within this breast, some small and strangely aolt
Low voice would whisper, "stop, my boy your feet
Are going wrong" and then my heart would beat,
And stop, and beat again, to think thht
Had strayed 50 far away from virtues pathi
And would shuddcr rs tho't Of wrath
And woe which lay IN store for me. did try
For Mary's sake to quit the bowl. o, why
Will tho ts Of her rush to my brain twill craze
Another drink my life for one more sip
To drive away these tho'ts and cool my lip
The demons have they come again they raise
That hollow, fendish laugh-the impish blaze.
OF their wild eyes burns to my soul All, cease
To rave, proud heart why would'st thou crave
to take
What man refused to give One glass would make
Me better;-but will not ask it, Peace
My soul it is not long ere thy release.
And, friends, drank away my wealth; my life
Grew dark aad how hard poverty took hold
OF U.S. ani often we were hungry, cold
I and my Mary but the same sweet wife
She was, and ne or forsOok me in our strife.
But one dear child was born to US, and he
The angels claimed before he knew, thank God
The bitter pangs of drear misfOrtune's rod.
And yet, | have not told it all, for she
Whom God had given to share this life with me-
One bitter cold and dfeary night, up In
Our garrett when the biting hunger grew
Too sharp, the night too cold, there she, my true
And tender one ded--al alone--within
Those cold dark walls, the victim Of my sin.
But what is this? what do hear? that shrek
And have ye come again to prey on me?
Away! dark devils Hence and let me be!
have not called you, why then torturcs wreak
Upon my doomed and ruined soul? Why? Speak
But. OH my brain, it reels, it burns with high,
Yes--lIell's own fire and look, yon demon hings
A dart at me it strikes my breast it stings---
It aches.--it kills and where, oh where am ?
see the woes of hell ye Gods die!
CLISToN MISS, April 1880