LINES

WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF THE COUNTESS OF LONSDALE. NOV. 5, 1834

This is a faithful picture of that amiable Lady, as she then was. The youthfulness of figure and demeanour and habits, which she retained in almost unprecedented degree, departed a very few years after, and she died without violent disease by gradual decay before she reached the period of old age.

LADY! a Pen (perhaps with thy regard, Among the Favoured, favoured not the least)

Left, 'mid the Records of this Book in

scribed,

Deliberate traces, registers of thought
And feeling, suited to the place and time
That gave them birth:-months passed,
and still this hand,

That had not been too timid to imprint Words which the virtues of thy Lord inspired,

Was yet not bold enough to write of Thee. And why that scrupulous reserve? In sooth

The blameless cause lay in the Theme itself.

Flowers are there many that delight to strive

With the sharp wind, and seem to court the shower,

Yet are by nature careless of the sun Whether he shine on them or not; and some,

Where'er he moves along the unclouded sky, Turn a broad front full on his flattering

beams:

Others do rather from their notice shrink, Loving the dewy shade,—a humble band, Modest and sweet, a progeny of earth, Congenial with thy mind and character, High-born Augusta!

Witness, Towers and Groves! And Thou, wild Stream, that giv'st the honoured name

Of Lowther to this ancient Line, bear witness

From thy most secret haunts; and ye Parterres,

Which She is pleased and proud to call her own,

Witness how oft upon my noble Friend Mute offerings, tribute from an inward

sense

Of admiration and respectful love,
Have waited-till the affections could no

more

Endure that silence, and broke out in song,
Snatches of music taken up and dropt
Like those self-solacing, those under, notes
Trilled by the redbreast, when autumnal
leaves

Are thin upon the bough. Mine, only mine,

The pleasure was, and no one heard the praise,

Checked, in the moment of its issue, checked

And reprehended, by a fancied blush
From the pure qualities that called it forth.
Thus Virtue lives debarred from Virtue's
meed;

Thus, Lady, is retiredness a veil
That, while it only spreads a softening
charm

O'er features looked at by discerning eyes, Hides half their beauty from the common gaze;

And thus, even on the exposed and breezy hill

Of lofty station, female goodness walks,
When side by side with lunar gentleness,
As in a cloister. Yet the grateful Poor
(Such the immunities of low estate,
Plain Nature's enviable privilege,
Her sacred recompence for many wants
Open their hearts before Thee, pouring

out

All that they think and feel, with tears of joy;

And benedictions not unheard in heaven: And friend in the ear of friend, where speech is free

To follow truth, is eloquent as they.

Then let the Book receive in these prompt lines

A just memorial; and thine eyes consent To read that they, who mark thy course, behold

A life declining with the golden light
Of summer, in the season of sere leaves;
See cheerfulness undamped by stealing
Time;

See studied kindness flow with easy stream,
Illustrated with inborn courtesy ;

And an habitual disregard of self
Balanced by vigilance for others' weal.
And shall the Verse not tell of lighter
gifts

With these ennobling attributes conjoined
And blended, in peculiar harmony,

By Youth's surviving spirit? What agile grace!

A nymph-like liberty, in nymph-like form, Beheld with wonder; whether floor or path Thou tread; or sweep- borne on the

managed steed

Fleet as the shadows, over down or field, Driven by strong winds at play among the clouds.

Yet one word more-one farewell word -a wish Which came, prayer

but it has passed into a

That, as thy sun in brightness is declining,
So at an hour yet distant for their sakes
Whose tender love, here faltering on the
way

Of a diviner love, will be forgiven-
So may it set in peace, to rise again
For everlasting glory won by faith.

TO THE MOON

COMPOSED BY THE SEASIDE, ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND

WANDERER! that stoop'st so low, and

com'st so near

To human life's unsettled atmosphere; Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake,

So might it seem, the cares of them that wake;

And, through the cottage-lattice softly peeping,

Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping;

What pleasure once encompassed those

sweet names

Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims,
An idolizing dreamer as of yore !—
I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore
Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend
That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S
FRIEND;

So call thee for heaven's grace through thee made known

By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkling star or beacon's light
Abates the perils of a stormy night;
And for less obvious benefits, that find
Their way, with thy pure help, to heart
and mind;

Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime;

And veteran ranging round from clime to clime,

Long-baffled hope's slow fever in his veins, And wounds and weakness oft his labour's sole remains.

The aspiring Mountains and the winding Streams,

Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams;

A look of thine the wilderness pervades, And penetrates the forest's inmost shades; Thou, chequering peaceably the minster's gloom,

Guid'st the pale Mourner to the lost one's tomb;

Canst reach the Prisoner---to his grated cell
Welcome, though silent and intangible !—
And lives there one, of all that come and go
On the great waters toiling to and fro,
One, who has watched thee at some quiet
hour

Enthroned aloft in undisputed power,
Or crossed by vapoury streaks and clouds
that move

Catching the lustre they in part reprove—
Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway
To call up thoughts that shun the glare of
day,

And make the serious happier than the gay?
Yes, lovely Moon! if thou so mildly

bright

Dost rouse, yet surely in thy own despite, To fiercer mood the phrenzy-stricken brain, Let me a compensating faith maintain; That there's a sensitive, a tender, part Which thou canst touch in every human heart,

For healing and composure. But, as least And mightiest billows ever have confessed Thy domination; as the whole vast Sea Feels through her lowest depths thy sovereignty;

So shines that countenance with especial

grace

On them who urge the keel her plains to

trace

QUEEN of the stars !-so gentle, so benign,
That ancient Fable did to thee assign,
When darkness creeping o'er thy silver brow
Warned thee these upper regions to forego,
Alternate empire in the shades below-
A Bard, who, lately near the wide-spread sea
Traversed by gleaming ships, looked up
to thee

With grateful thoughts, doth now thy rising hail

From the close confines of a shadowy vale. Glory of night, conspicuous yet serene, Nor less attractive when by glimpses seen Through cloudy umbrage, well might that

fair face,

And all those attributes of modest grace, In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by fear,

streams

With stainless touch, as chaste as when

thy praise

Was sung by Virgin-choirs in festal lays; And through dark trials still dost thou explore

Thy way for increase punctual as of yore, When teeming Matrons-yielding to rude faith

In mysteries of birth and life and death And painful struggle and deliverance

prayed

Of thee to visit them with lenient aid. What though the rites be swept away, the fanes

Extinct that echoed to the votive strains; Yet thy mild aspect does not, cannot, cease Love to promote and purity and peace; And Fancy, unreproved, even yet may

trace

Faint types of suffering in thy beamless face.

Then, silent Monitress! let us--not blind To worlds unthought of till the searching

mind

Of Science laid them open to mankindTold, also, how the voiceless heavens de

clare

God's glory; and acknowledging thy share In that blest charge; let us-without offence To aught of highest, holiest, influenceReceive whatever good 'tis given thee to

dispense.

May sage and simple, catching with one

eye

The moral intimations of the sky, 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,
And from example of thy monthly range
Gently to brook decline and fatal change;
Meek, patient, stedfast, and with loftier
scope,

Than thy revival yields, for gladsome hope! 1835.

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 his friends, without really benefiting the object of his misapplied kindness.

To a good Man of most dear memory 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,

His spirit, but the recompence was high; Firm Independence, Bounty's rightful sire; Affections, warm as sunshine, free as air; And when the precious hours of leisure

came,

Knowledge and wisdom, gained from con

verse sweet

With books, or while he ranged the crowded streets

With a keen eye, and overflowing heart: So genius triumphed over seeming wrong, And poured out truth in works by thoughtful love

Inspired-works potent over smiles and

tears.

And as round mountain-tops the lightning plays,

Thus innocently sported, breaking forth
As from a cloud of some grave sympathy,
Humour and wild instinctive wit, and all
The vivid flashes of his spoken words.
From the most gentle creature nursed in
fields 1

Had been derived the name he bore-a

name,

Wherever Christian altars have been raised,
Hallowed to meekness and to innocence;
And if in him meekness at times gave way,
Provoked out of herself by troubles strange,
Many and strange, that hung about his life;
Still, at the centre of his being, lodged
A soul by resignation sanctified:
And if too often, self-reproached, he felt
That innocence belongs not to our kind,
A power that never ceased to abide in him,
Charity, 'mid the multitude of sins
That she can cover, left not his exposed
To an unforgiving judgment from just
Heaven.

Oh, he was good, if e'er a good Man lived!