90
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 glad
To know, though kept a Captive here,
I am not mad! I am not mad!
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 glad
To 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!
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!
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!
