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　　WRITTEN AT CAMBRIDGE

　　(August 15. 1819)

　　I was not train'd in Academic bowers,

　　And to those learned streams I nothing owe

　　Which copious from those twin fair founts do flow;

　　Mine have been any thing but studious hours.

　　Yet can I fancy, wandering 'mid thy towers,

　　Myself a nursling, Granta, of thy lap;

　　My brow seems tightening with the Doctor's cap,

　　And I walk gowned; feel unusual powers.

　　Strange forms of logic clothe my admiring speech,

　　Old Ramus' ghost is busy at my brain;

　　And my scull teems with notions infinite.

　　Be still, ye reeds of Camus, while I teach

　　Truths, which transcend the searching Schoolmen's vein,

　　And half had stagger'd that stout Stagirite! The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 4