III. hear that she a Book hath gotAs what young damsel now hath not, In which they scribble favourite fancies, Copied from poems or romances? IV. Thus far I have taken on believing: But well I know without deceiving, That in her heart she keeps alive still Old school-day likings, which survive still In spite of absence-worldly cold ness And thereon can my Muse take bold ness To crown her other praises three With praise of-friendly Daubeny. IN MY OWN ALBUM. FRESH clad from heaven in robes of white, A young probationer of light, And Time with heaviest hand of all, And error gilding worst designsLike speckled snake that strays and shines Betrays his path by crooked lines; And vice hath left his ugly blot : And fruitless, late reinorse doth trace Like Hebrew lore a backward paceHer irrecoverable race. F Disjointed numbers; sense unknit ; Huge reams of folly, shreds of wit; Compose the mingled mass of it. My scalded eyes no longer brook Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to lookGo, shut the leaves, and clasp the book. ANGEL HELP. (The New Monthly Magazine, June, 1827.) [Quoted in Blackwood's Magazine within little more than two years after their first appearance, that is, in August, 1830, these lines were introduced thus: "Charles! we love the following strain," the critic adding with effusion, at their close, "Oh! rare Charles Lamb! An explanatory note appended to the poem by the lyrist himself tells the reader how they were "Suggested by a drawing in the possession of Charles Aders, Esq., in which is represented the legend of a poor female saint who, having spun past midnight, to maintain a bedridden mother, has fallen asleep from fatigue, and angels are finishing her work. In another part of the chamber," he adds, "an angel is tending a lily, the emblem of purity."] THIS rare tablet doth include Past midnight this poor Maid hath spun, And yet the work is not half done, Which must supply from earnings The flesh-clogg'd spirit disabusing, This Maid must keep her precious dower; Live a sainted Maid, or die Virtuous poor ones, sleep, sleep on, THE CHRISTENING. (Blackwood's Magazine, May, 1829.) [These verses were written in celebration of the christening of the infant son of Charles and Mary Gisburne May, on the 25th March, 1829, at Enfield, Charles and Mary Lamb standing, on the occasion, as sponsors.] ARRAY'D-a half-angelic sight- The Cleansing Water at his hand, Enough for him, in after-times, If, looking back upon this day And more and more will strive to flee All which my Sponsors kind did then renounce for me.' ON AN INFANT DYING. AS I SAW where in the shroud did lurk For darker closets of the tomb! For the long dark: ne'er more to see Just when she had exactly wrought That should thy little limbs have quicken'd? Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure And cut the branch; to save the shock "To the lone man who, 'reft of wife, Thenceforward drags a maimèd life? The economy of Heaven is dark; And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark, Why Human Buds, like this, should fall, More brief than fly ephemeral, That has his day; while shrivell'd crones Stiffen with age to stocks and stones; Loving hearts were they which gave them. Let not one be missing; nurse, The subject? what I pleased, if comely; But something scriptural and homely: one, In honest parable of Bunyan. From her stock of Scriptural knowledge, Bible-taught without a college, SHE IS GOING. FOR their elder sister's hair Mary, youngest of the three, Vex not, maidens, nor regret THE YOUNG CATECHIST. [Lines suggested, as the author's foothote intimates, by "a picture by Henry Meyer, Esq."] WHILE this tawny Ethiop prayeth, Or some Cherub ?— They you mention Far transcend my week invention. 'Tis a simple Christian child, Missionary young and mild, TO A YOUNG FRIEND. ON HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY. [The young friend thus tenderly addressed was Emma Isola (afterwards Mrs. Edward Moxon), one of Charles Lamb's especial child-favourites.] CROWN me a cheerful goblet, while I pray A blessing on thy years, young Isola; Young, but no more a child. How swift have flown To me thy girlish times, a woman grown Beneath my heedless eyes! In vain I rack My fancy to believe the almanack, That speaks thee twenty-one. Thou should'st have still Remain'd a child, and at thy sovereign will wish was cold. O far more aged and wrinkled, till folks say, Looking upon thee reverend in decay, "This dame for length of days, and virtues rare, With her respected grandsire may compare. Grandchild of that respected Isola, Thou should'st have had about thee on this day Kind looks of parents, to congratulate Their pride grown up to woman's grave estate. But they have died, and left thee, to advance Thy fortunes how thou may'st, and owe to chance The friends which Nature grudged. And thou wilt find, Or make such, Emma, if I am not blind To thee and thy deservings. That last strain Had too much sorrow in it. Fill again Another cheerful goblet, while I say "Health, and twice health, to our lost Isola." TO THE SAME. EXTERNAL gifts of fortune or of face, Maiden, in truth, thou hast not much to show; Much fairer damsels have I known, and know, And richer may be found in every place. In thy mind seek thy beauty and thy wealth. Sincereness lodgeth there, the soul's best health. O guard that treasure above gold or pearl, Laid up secure from moths and worldly stealth And take my benison, plain-hearted girl. TO JAMES SHERIDAN ON HIS TRAGEDY OF VIRGINIUS. (London Magazine, September, 1820.) [As originally published in the London Magazine, these complimentary verses had prefixed to them the odd misprint of R. S. Knowles, which, still more strangely, was repeated ten years afterwards, when they were reissued towards the end of the little volume containing the Album Verses.] TWELVE years ago I knew thee, Esteemed you a perfect specimen To teach us colder English how a friend's Quick pulse should beat. I knew you brave, and plain, Strong-sensed, rough-witted, above fear or gain; But nothing further had the gift to |