Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/106

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POEMS.
My tyrant Husband forged the tale,Which chains me in this dismal cell:My fate unknown my Friends bewail;Oh! Gaoler, haste that fate to tell!Oh! haste my Father's heart to chear:His heart at once 'twill grieve and gladTo know, though kept a Captive here,I am not mad! I am not mad!
He smiles in scorn, and turns the key!He quits the Grate! I knelt in vain!—His glimmering Lamp still. . . .still I see!—'Tis gone. . . .and all is gloom again!Cold, bitter cold!—no warmth! no light!—Life, all thy comforts once I had;Yet here I'm chained this freezing night,Although not mad! No, no! not mad!
'Tis sure some dream! some vision vain!—What? I, the Child of rank and wealth,Am I the wretch, who clanks this chain,Bereft of freedom, friends and health?Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,Which never more my heart must glad,How aches my heart! how burns my head!—But 'tis not mad!—no!—'Tis not mad!
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