Mirth and Metre consisting of Poems, Serious, Humorous, and Satirical; Songs, Sonnets, Ballads & Bagatelles. Written by C. Dibdin, Jun |
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THE LUNATIC.
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24
THE LUNATIC.
Reason! beam of light divine!
Source of each celestial joy!
A moment, ah! I boast thee mine;
Involving mists no longer roll
O'er my sad benighted soul,
But all is lucid, calm, and free;
Extravagance and wild desire
No more my hurried fancy fire;
No frantic views my mind employ;
All, all, is sweet complacency!
Ah! to die in state like this
Were dearest agony of bliss!
Source of each celestial joy!
A moment, ah! I boast thee mine;
Involving mists no longer roll
O'er my sad benighted soul,
But all is lucid, calm, and free;
Extravagance and wild desire
No more my hurried fancy fire;
No frantic views my mind employ;
All, all, is sweet complacency!
Ah! to die in state like this
Were dearest agony of bliss!
Horror darkens all my light;
Scenes of anguish crowd my sight!
Anticipation's cruel power
Robs me of the present hour.
Must I reason then forego?
Must I sink again so low?
Hope offers me no cheering balm—
The thought deranges every calm!
O, cruel interval of light,
Thou arm'st more poignantly the coming night.
Scenes of anguish crowd my sight!
Anticipation's cruel power
Robs me of the present hour.
Must I reason then forego?
Must I sink again so low?
Hope offers me no cheering balm—
The thought deranges every calm!
O, cruel interval of light,
Thou arm'st more poignantly the coming night.
Warp not, restless fiends! my soul,
I defy your curst controui;
I'm of blood and race more high
Than all the heroes fame e'er sung
For whom the lyre of bards was strung;
Fiends avaunt! ye fire my brain!
The madd'ning flame
Pervades my frame—
I brave ye all; your power is vain—
My soul is tortur'd, rack'd, and torn;
On furious, rapid, whirlwinds borne;
I ride upon the fleeting clouds!
Mountains, molehills, all appear
Now, so high my course I steer
Distance each nether object shrouds!
Higher, higher, I advance,
All is fathomless expanse!
I shudder at the vast profound—
My sight is lost, my head turns round—
I'm lost! I fall! I sink! I die!
I defy your curst controui;
I'm of blood and race more high
Than all the heroes fame e'er sung
For whom the lyre of bards was strung;
Fiends avaunt! ye fire my brain!
The madd'ning flame
Pervades my frame—
I brave ye all; your power is vain—
25
On furious, rapid, whirlwinds borne;
I ride upon the fleeting clouds!
Mountains, molehills, all appear
Now, so high my course I steer
Distance each nether object shrouds!
Higher, higher, I advance,
All is fathomless expanse!
I shudder at the vast profound—
My sight is lost, my head turns round—
I'm lost! I fall! I sink! I die!
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