TO JOHN LAMB, ESQ., OF THE SOUTH-SEA HOUSE.
JOHN, you were figuring in the gay career Of blooming manhood with a young man's joy, When I was yet a little peevish boy-
Though time has made the difference disappear Between our ages, which then seem'd so great- And still by rightful custom you retain Much of the old authoritative strain, And keep the elder brother up in state. Oh! you do well in this. 'Tis man's worst deed To let the "things that have been" run to waste, And in the unmeaning present sink the past: In whose dim glass even now I faintly read Old buried forms, and faces long ago, Which you, and I, and one more only know.
OH! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind, That, rushing on its way with careless sweep, Scatters the ocean waves. And I could weep Like to a child. For now to my raised mind On wings of winds comes wild-eyed Phantasy, And her rude visions give severe delight. Oh, winged bark! how swift along the night Pass'd thy proud keel! nor shall I let go by Lightly of that drear hour the memory, When wet and chilly on thy deck I stood, Unbonneted, and gazed upon the flood, Even till it seem'd a pleasant thing to die— To be resolved into th' elemental wave, Or take my portion with the winds that rave.
We were two pretty babes, the youngest she, The youngest, and the loveliest far, I ween, And INNOCENCE her name. The time has been We two did love each other's company;
Time was we two had wept to have been apart. But when, by show of seeming good beguiled, I left the garb and manners of a child, And my first love for man's society, Defiling with the world my virgin heart- My loved companion dropp'd a tear, and fled, And hid in deepest shades her awful head. Beloved, who shall tell me where thou art- In what delicious Eden to be found-
That I may seek thee the wide world around?
In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse Upon the days gone by; to act in thought Past seasons o'er, and be again a child; To sit in fancy on the turf-clad slope,
Down which the child would roll; to pluck gay flowers, Make posies in the sun, which the child's hand (Childhood offended soon, soon reconciled) Would throw away, and straight take up again, Then fling them to the winds, and o'er the lawn Bound with so playful and so light a foot, That the press'd daisy scarce declined her head.
Hard by the house of prayer, a modest roof, And not distinguish'd from its neighbour-barn, Save by a slender-tapering length of spire, The grandame sleeps. A plain stone barely tells The name and date to the chance passenger. For lowly born was she, and long had eat, Well-earn'd, the bread of service: hers was else A mounting spirit, one that entertain'd Scorn of base action, deed dishonourable, Or aught unseemly. I remember well Her reverend image: I remember, too, With what a zeal she served her master's house; And how the prattling tongue of garrulous age Delighted to recount the oft-told tale
Or anecdote domestic. Wise she was, And wondrous skill'd in genealogies, And could in apt and voluble terms discourse Of births, of titles, and alliances; Of marriages, and intermarriages; Relationship remote, or near of kin; Of friends offended, family disgraced- Maiden high-born, but wayward, disobeying Parental strict injunction, and regardless Of unmix'd blood, and ancestry remote, Stooping to wed with one of low degree. But these are not thy praises; and I wrong Thy honour'd memory, recording chiefly Things light or trivial. Better 'twere to tell, How with a nobler zeal and warmer love She served her heavenly Master. I have seen That reverend form bent down with age, and pain, And rankling malady. Yet not for this
Ceased she to praise her Maker, or withdrew Her trust in him, her faith and humble hope— So meekly had she learn'd to bear her cross- For she had studied patience in the school Of Christ, much comfort she had thence derived, And was a follower of the NAZARENE.
THE cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard, Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice Of one who, from the far-off hills, proclaims Tidings of good to Zion: chiefly when
Their piercing tones fall sudden on the ear Of the contemplant, solitary man,
Whom thoughts abstruse or high have chanced to lure
Forth from the walks of men, revolving oft,
And oft again, hard matter, which eludes
And baffles his pursuit-thought-sick, and tired
Of controversy, where no end appears,
No clew to his research, the lonely man Half wishes for society again.
Him, thus engaged, the Sabbath bells salute Sudden! his heart awakes, his ears drink in
The cheering music; his relenting soul Yearns after all the joys of social life, And softens with the love of human kind.
FANCY EMPLOYED ON DIVINE SUBJECTS.
THE truant Fancy was a wanderer ever,
A lone enthusiast maid. She loves to walk In the bright visions of empyreal light, By the green pastures and the fragrant meads, Where the perpetual flowers of Eden blow; By crystal streams and by the living waters, Along whose margin grows the wondrous tree Whose leaves shall heal the nations; underneath Whose holy shade a refuge shall be found From pain and want, and all the ills that wait On mortal life, from sin and death for ever.
FROM broken visions of perturbed rest I wake, and start, and fear to sleep again. How total a privation of all sounds,
Sights, and familiar objects, man, bird, beast, Herb, tree, or flower, and prodigal light of heaven "Twere some relief to catch the drowsy cry Of the mechanic watchman, or the noise Of revel reeling home from midnight cups. Those are the moanings of the dying man, Who lies in the upper chamber; restless moans, And interrupted only by a cough
Consumptive, torturing the wasted lungs. So in the bitterness of death he lies, And waits in anguish for the morning's light. What can that do for him, or what restore? Short taste, faint sense, affecting notices, And little images of pleasures past,
Of health, and active life-health not yet slain,
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