Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/107

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POEMS.
91
Hast thou, my Child, forgot ere thisA Mother's face, a Mother's tongue?She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,Nor round her neck how fast you clung:Nor how with Me you sued to stay,Nor how that suit your Sire forbad;Nor how. . . .I'll drive such thoughts away:They'll make me mad! They'll make me mad!
His rosy lips, how sweet They smiled!His mild blue eyes, how bright They shone!None ever bore a lovelier Child!—And art Thou now for ever gone,And must I never see thee more,My pretty, pretty, pretty Lad!I will be free! unbar the door!I am not mad! I am not mad!
Oh! Hark!—what mean those yells and cries?—His chain some furious Madman breaks!—He comes!—I see his glaring eyes!—Now, now my dungeon-grate He shakes!—Help, help!—He's gone!—Oh! fearful woe,Such screams to hear, such sights to see!My brain, my brain!—I know, I know,I am not mad. . . .but soon shall be!
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