A kindly influence whereof few will speak, Though it can wet with tears the hardiest cheek. And when thy beauty in the shadowy cave Swept by a favouring wind that leaves thought free, QUEEN of the stars!-so gentle, so benign, Glory of night, conspicuous yet serene, Through cloudy umbrage,* well might that fair face, In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by fear, Down to the green earth fetch thee from thy sphere, To sit in leafy woods by fountains clear! O still belov'd (for thine, meek Power, are charms That fascinate the very Babe in arms While he, uplifted towards thee, laughs outright, Spares thy mild splendour; still those far-shot beams Then, silent Monitress! let us-not blind Learn from thy course, where'er their own be taken, To look on tempests, and be never shaken;' To keep with faithful step the appointed way Eclipsing or eclipsed, by night or day, WRITTEN AFTER THE DEATH OF CHARLES LAMB.* [Light will be thrown upon the tragic circumstance alluded to in this poem when, after the death of Charles Lamb's Sister, his biographer, Mr Sergeant Talfourd, shall be at liberty to relate particulars which could not, at the time his Memoir was written, be given to the public. Mary Lamb was ten years older than her brother, and has survived him as long a time. Were I to give way to my own feelings, I should dwell not only on her genius and intellectual powers, but upon the delicacy and refinement of manner which she maintained inviolable under most trying circumstances. She was loved and honoured by all her brother's friends; and others, some of them strange characters, whom his philanthropic peculiarities induced him to countenance. The death of C. Lamb himself was doubtless hastened by his sorrow for that of Coleridge, to whom he had been attached from the time of their being school-fellows at Christ's Hospital. Lamb was a good Latin scholar, and probably would have gone to college upon one of the school foundations but for the impediment in his speech. Had such been his lot, he would most likely have been preserved from the indulgences of social humours and fancies which were often injurious to himself, and causes of severe regret to -as a * In the edition of 1836, these lines had no title. They were printed privately, however,-before their first appearance, in that edition,— small pamphlet of seven pages without title or heading. A copy will be found in the fifth volume of the collection of pamphlets, forming part of the library bequeathed by the late Mr John Forster to the South Kensington Museum. There are several readings peculiar to this privatelyprinted edition.-ED. his friends, without really benefiting the object of his misapplied kindness.] To a good Man of most dear memory1 This Stone is sacred.* Here he lies apart From the great city where he first drew breath, Was reared and taught; and humbly earned his bread, To the strict labours of the merchant's desk By duty chained. Not seldom did those tasks Tease, and the thought of time so spent depress, So genius triumphed over seeming wrong, And poured out truth in works by thoughtful love From the most gentle creature nursed in fields † 1 1835. To the dear memory of a frail good Man Privately printed edition. Lamb was buried in Edmonton Churchyard, in a spot selected by him self.-ED. + This way of indicating the name of my lamented friend has been found fault with, perhaps rightly so; but I may say in justification of the double sense of the word, that similar allusions are not uncommon in epitaphs. One of the best in our language in verse, I ever read, was upon a person who bore the name of Palmer; and the course of the thought, throughB VIII. Had been derived the name he bore-a name, That she can cover, left not his exposed From a reflecting mind and sorrowing heart Those simple lines flowed with an earnest wish, Though but a doubting hope, that they might serve Fitly to guard the precious dust of him Whose virtues called them forth. That aim is missed; For much that truth most urgently required Had from a faltering pen been asked in vain : 1835. And if too often, self-reproach'd, he felt Privately printed edition. out, turned upon the Life of the Departed, considered as a pilgrimage. Nor can I think that the objection in the present case will have much force with any one who remembers Charles Lamb's beautiful sonnet addressed to his own name, and ending "No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name !" -W. W., 1836. |