One Mad Summer...
On the shores of Lake Geneva
Stood a carriage, black, japanned,
Bearing symbols of the lineage
Of the owner's ancient lands,
To the Villa Deodati
He had fled, without his books,
To avoid the literati
And their disapproving looks.
From a humble, fraught beginning
And a mother he despised
He'd succeeded to the title
When his wicked Uncle died,
And he'd scribbled in his youth a tract
That caught the public eye,
Full of rant and young bravura
That had made the women sigh.
But an overnight sensation hadn't
Helped defeat his gloom,
He rode on the horse 'Disaster',
It was written on his tomb,
For the women came and flaunted,
Rushed unheeding to despair,
At his cheek, like alabaster,
At his limp, his curling hair.
There was only one who could inspire
His love, philanthropy,
To his shame, she was his sister
He adored Augusta Leigh,
And his main inheritance, he'd found
About his name was gloom,
As he rushed to his undoing in
Augusta's scented room.
He had fathered them a daughter
To the horror of his friends,
While the Lady Melbourne told him:
'Much too late to make amends! '
While the rumours gathered force, and daily
Threatened his disgrace,
And the bailiffs took possession,
He would have to leave that place.
In the yawning jaws of peril he
Attempted one last throw,
He would marry for convenience,
Would marry, just for show,
But he chose a moral tartar who
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poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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