 | Poems (1797) |  |
215
Poems,By Charles Lamb,
Of the India-House
This Beauty in the blossom of my Youth,
When my first fire knew no adulterate incense,
Nor I no way to flatter but my fondness,
In the best language my true tongue could tell me,
And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me,
I sued and served. Long did I love this Lady.
Massinger.
When my first fire knew no adulterate incense,
Nor I no way to flatter but my fondness,
In the best language my true tongue could tell me,
And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me,
I sued and served. Long did I love this Lady.
Massinger.
216
THE FEW FOLLOWING POEMS, CREATURES OF THE FANCY AND THE FEELING,
IN LIFE'S MORE vacant HOURS; PRODUCED, FOR THE MOST PART, BY
LOVE IN IDLENESS; ARE WITH ALL A BROTHER'S FONDNESS, INSCRIBED TO
MARY ANN LAMB, THE AUTHOR'S BEST FRIEND AND SISTER.
221
SONNET VIII.
[As when a child on some long winter's night]
As when a child on some long winter's nightAffrighted clinging to its Grandam's knees
With eager wond'ring and perturb'd delight
Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees
Mutter'd to wretch by necromantic spell;
Or of those hags, who at the witching time
Of murky midnight ride the air sublime,
And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Hell:
Cold Horror drinks its blood! Anon the tear
More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tell
Of pretty babes, that lov'd each other dear,
Murder'd by cruel Uncle's mandate fell:
Ev'n such the shiv'ring joys thy tones impart,
Ev'n so thou, Siddons! meltest my sad heart!
| Poems (1797) | |