VII

Thou best Philosopher made out of wood!
Not that which framed the tub,
Where sate the Cynic cub,

With nothing in his bosom sympathetic;
But from those groves derived, I deem,
Where Plato nursed his dream

Thou to thy pupils dost such lessons give
Of how to live

With temperance, sobriety, morality,

(A new art,)

That from thy school, by force of virtuous deeds, Each Tyro now proceeds

A "Walking Stewart!"

EPICEDIUM

GOING OR GONE

(1827)

I

Fine merry franions,

Wanton companions,

My days are ev'n banyans

With thinking upon ye;

How Death, that last stinger,
Finis-writer, end-bringer,
Has laid his chill finger,

Or is laying on ye.

II

There's rich Kitty Wheatley,
With footing it featly

That took me completely,

She sleeps in the Kirk House ;

And poor Polly Perkin,

Whose Dad was still firking

The jolly ale firkin,

She's gone to the Work-house;

III

Fine Gard'ner, Ben Carter
(In ten counties no smarter)
Has ta'en his departure

For Proserpine's orchards;

And Lily, postillion,

With cheeks of vermilion,

Is one of a million

That fill up the church-yards;

IV

And, lusty as Dido,

Fat Clemitson's widow

Flits now a small shadow
By Stygian hid ford;
And good Master Clapton
Has thirty years nap't on
The ground he last hap't on,
Intomb'd by fair Widford;

V

And gallant Tom Dockwra,
Of nature's finest crockery,
Now but thin air and mockery,
Lurks by Avernus,

Whose honest grasp of hand
Still, while his life did stand,
At friend's or foe's command,
Almost did burn us.

VI

Roger de Coverley

Not more good man than he;

Yet has he equally

Push'd for Cocytus,

With drivelling Worral,

And wicked old Dorrell,

'Gainst whom I've a quarrel,

Whose end might affright us!

1 Here came, in Album Verses, 1830, "The Wife's Trial," for which

see page 273, where it is placed with Lamb's other plays.

NEW POEMS IN LAMB'S POETICAL

WORKS, 1836

IN THE ALBUM OF EDITH S[OUTHEY]

IN

(1833)

Christian world MARY the garland wears!
REBECCA Sweetens on a Hebrew's ear;
Quakers for pure PRISCILLA are more clear;
And the light Gaul by amorous NINON Swears.
Among the lesser lights how LUCY shines!
What air of fragrance ROSAMOND throws round!
How like a hymn doth sweet CECILIA sound!
Of MARTHAS, and of ABIGAILS, few lines
Have bragg'd in verse.

Of coarsest household stuff
But can

Should homely JOAN be fashioned.

You BARBARA resist, or MARIAN?

And is not CLARE for love excuse enough?
Yet, by my faith in numbers, I profess,

These all, than Saxon EDITH, please me less.

TO DORA W[ORDSWORTH),

On Being Asked by Her Father to Write in Her Album

An Album is a Banquet: from the store,

In his intelligential Orchard growing,

Your Sire might heap your board to overflowing
One shaking of the Tree-'twould ask no more
To set a Salad forth, more rich than that

1

Which Evelyn 1 in his princely cookery fancied:
Or that more rare, by Eve's neat hands enhanced,
Where, a pleased guest, the angelic Virtue sat.
But like the all-grasping Founder of the Feast,

1 Acetaria, a Discourse of Sallets, by J. E., 1706.

Whom Nathan to the sinning king did tax,
From his less wealthy neighbours he exacts;
Spares his own flocks, and takes the poor man's beast.
Obedient to his bidding, lo, I am,

A zealous, meek, contributory

LAMB.

IN THE ALBUM OF ROTHA Q[UILLINAN]

A passing glance was all I caught of thee,
In my own Enfield haunts at random roving.
Old friends of ours were with thee, faces loving ;
Time short and salutations cursory,

Though deep, and hearty. The familiar Name
Of you, yet unfamiliar, raised in me

Thoughts-what the daughter of that Man should be, Who call'd our Wordsworth friend. My thoughts did frame

A growing Maiden, who, from day to day
Advancing still in stature, and in grace,
Would all her lonely Father's griefs efface,
And his paternal cares with usury pay.
I still retain the phantom, as I can;
And call the gentle image-Quillinan.

IN THE ALBUM OF CATHERINE ORKNEY

Canadia! boast no more the toils
Of hunters for the furry spoils ;
Your whitest ermines are but foils

To brighter Catherine Orkney.

That such a flower should ever burst
From climes with rigorous winter curst !-
We bless you, that so kindly nurst
This flower, this Catherine Orkney.

We envy not your proud display
Of lake-wood-vast Niagara :

Your greatest pride we've borne away.

How spared you Catherine Orkney?