Sonnet VIII
As when a child on some long winter’s night
Affrighted 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!
