Literary cadet, and Saturday evening bulletin. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1826-1827, 1826-09-23

We were always partial to the efusions Of NJ. g..
LEWIS, and well we remember Of having in
times past pored over his Ambrosio,' till
''eaeh particular hair" on our head stood erect.
LEWIS has written some of the best poetry Of the
age, if popularity be any test Of their meiit. Poor
fellow, he died too young, and without reaping
those laures to which he entitled. His fancy
was wild and lnxuriant, and had he not given il too
much scope, he would have ranked among the
abest authors Of the eighteenth and nineteenth
turies.
The following efusion, we find transplanted into
the National Tntslligencer from the col umns Of
English Publication, with the following very appo.
site remarks, by the Editor Of the former celebrated
journai:-"If any one can read the following lines
without shudde-ing in sympathy with the suppos-
ed captive, he must have heart dead to every hu-
man feeling. The perusal Of them had the more
effect upon us, from the conviction we had for some
time entertained, that insanity, when superinjuced
tnot naturai)-whsn it is an affection Of the mimi,
and not defect Of forganizations often the conse-
quencs OF the treatment Of The dsease-not merely
Of the enlargement Of friends; Of ssclusion from
VIC WofIo VI CoeICiOHS Out VI nOTTlDle OfetQ OI
bsps thought mad by Others. We recollect hear
ing of the case of an enlightened physician, who
was carried BY his frieuds TO an asylum for the in
zane, after exhibiting symptoms Of an alienation OF
mind-"My Godv' said he, have I come to this?
Never shall leave these wallis" And he died
within them not many days after"
A SCENE IN A PRIVATE MAD HOUSE.
Stay, goalsr, stay, and hear my wo!
She IS not mad who kneels to thee,
For what I'm now, too well know,
And who was, and what should be,
IN rave no more in proud despair,
My lanyrage shall be mild, though sad;
But yet Fl firmly, truly swear,
am moi mad ! | am not mad!
My tyrant husband forged the tale
Which chains me IN this dismal cell,
Nv fate unknown my friends bewail-
Oh! gaoler, haste that fate to tell!
Oh! haste my fathers heart to cheer;
His heart Al once twill grieve and glad,
To know, though kepta captive here,
l am not mad! am not mad!
He smiles in scorn, and turns the key!
He quits the e ate knelt IN vain!
His glimm'rng lamp still, still seei
IT'S gone--and all is gloom again!
Cold, bitter cold--no warmth. no light!
Life, all thy comforts once had!
Yet here "a chain'd this freezing night,
Although not mad! no, no! not mad!
IT'S sure some dream! some vision vain;
What ], the child ofrank and wealth;
Am the wretahs who clanks this chain,
Bereft oi fresdop, friends and health'
All! while lweh on blessings fled,
Which neter more my heart must glad,
How aches my heart! how burns my head!
But 'tis not mad: no, tits lot mad!
Hast thou my ctAd, forgot, ere this,
A mother's lace, mothers tongues
She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,
Nor round hsrneck how fast you clung;
Nor how with me you sued to stay,
Nor how lhat suit your sire forbadss
Nor how-Iii drive such thoughts away
They'll make me mad! they'll make me mar
His rosy lips. how sweet they smiled!
His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone!
None ever bore a loveier child!
Apd art thou now forever goneS
And must never see thee more,
Mypretty, pretty little lad!
will be free unbar the door!
am not mad! am not mad!
Oh, bark! what mean those dreadful cries,
His chain some furious madmnn breaks!
He comes! see his glasing eyes!
Now. now my dungeon CRATE he shakes,
Help! help!--he's gone. Oh. fearful wo.
Such screams 10 hear, such sights to see!
Ne L--.- a n n