Charles Lamb (1775–1834)

I WAS not trained in academic bowers,

And to those learned streams I nothing owe

Which copious from those twin fair founts do flow;

Mine have been anything but studious hours.

Yet can I fancy, wandering ’mid thy towers,

Myself a nurseling, Granta, of thy lap;

My brow seems tightening with the doctor’s cap,

And I walk gownéd; feel unusual powers!

Strange forms of logic clothe my admiring speech,

Old Ramus’ ghost is busy at my brain,

And my skull teems with notions infinite.

Be still, ye reeds of Camus, while I teach

Truths which transcend the searching schoolmen’s vein,

And half had staggered that stout Stagirite.