Poems (Lewis)/The Captive
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For works with similar titles, see The Captive.
THE CAPTIVE.
A SCENE IN A PRIVATE MAD-HOUSE.
Stay, Gaoler, stay, and hear my woe!
She is not mad who kneels to thee,
For what I'm now too well I know,
And what I was, and what should be.
I'll rave no more in proud despair;
My language shall be mild, though sad:
But yet I'll firmly, truly swear,
I am not mad! I am not mad!
She is not mad who kneels to thee,
For what I'm now too well I know,
And what I was, and what should be.
I'll rave no more in proud despair;
My language shall be mild, though sad:
But yet I'll firmly, truly swear,
I am not mad! I am not mad!
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!
Hast thou, my Child, forgot ere this
A 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!
A 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!
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!
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!
Yes! soon!—For Lo you! . . . . while I speak. . . .
Mark, how yon Dæmon's eye-balls glare!—
He sees me!—Now with dreadful shriek
He whirls a Serpent high in air!—
Horror!—The Reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart so crushed and sad!—
Aye, laugh, ye Fiends!—I feel the truth!
Your task is done!—I'm mad! I'm mad!
Mark, how yon Dæmon's eye-balls glare!—
He sees me!—Now with dreadful shriek
He whirls a Serpent high in air!—
Horror!—The Reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart so crushed and sad!—
Aye, laugh, ye Fiends!—I feel the truth!
Your task is done!—I'm mad! I'm mad!