I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house divine A Picture had it been of lasting ease, Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, A power is gone, which nothing can restore; Not for a moment could I now behold This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend; O, 'tis a passionate Work!-yet wise and well, And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 6 Throughout this piece, again, the feeling uppermost in the poet's mind is sorrow at the death of his brother. In one of his summer vacations while in college, he had spent four weeks in the neighbourhood of Peele Castle; and all that time the waters had remained perfectly unruffled and smooth, never ceasing to image in their depths the Castle standing near; and now a picture of the place, with the sea heaving under a mighty storm, -the same sea which had been so calm and still, that it seemed to him "the gentlest of all gentle Things," - only reminds him of his brother's fate, and, from the fierce contrast, impresses him with a deeper sense of the terrible might which had slumbered so sweetly before his eye. Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, WRITTEN AFTER THE DEATH OF CHARLES To a good Man of most dear memory From the great city where he first drew breath, 7 This is justly regarded as one of the author's noblest and most characteristic pieces. Hardly any of them has been oftener quoted, or drawn forth more or stronger notes of admiration. Perhaps the higher function of Poetry has never been better expressed than in the last half of the fourth stanza. The author's private correspondence at the time shows that the shaping and informing spirit of the piece was not a thing assumed for any purpose of art. In a letter to a friend, dated March 16, 1805, he wrote as follows: "For myself, I feel that there is something cut out of my life which cannot be restored. I never thought of him but with hope and delight: we looked forward to the time, not distant, as we thought, when he would settle near us, when the task of his life would be over, and he would have nothing to do but reap his reward. I never wrote a line without a thought of its giving him pleasure: my writings, printed and manuscript, were his delight, and one of the chief solaces of his long voyages. But I will not be cast down; were it only for his sake, I will not be dejected: and I hope, when I shall be able to think of him with a calmer mind, that the remembrance of him dead will even animate me more than the joy which I had in him living." 8 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 Tal fourd, 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 feel. ings, I should dwell not only on her genius and intellectual power, but upon the delicacy and refinement of manner which she maintained inviolable under the 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 Charles 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.-Author's Notes, 1843. With a keen eye and overflowing heart: And if too often, self-reproach'd, he felt From a reflecting mind and sorrowing heart Whose virtues call'd them forth. That aim is miss'd; Th' imperfect record, there, may stand unblamed Thou wert a scorner of the fields, my Friend, Which words less free presumed not even to touch) Of that fraternal love whose Heaven-lit lamp From infancy, through manhood, to the last 66 "Wonderful" hath been Had been no Paradise; and Earth were now Not so enrich'd, not so adorn'd, to thee Of a protector, the first filial tie Was undissolved; and, in or out of sight, Remain'd imperishably interwoven With life itself. Thus, 'mid a shifting world, Did they together testify of time And season's difference, a double tree With two collateral stems sprung from one root; Such were they; such thro' life they might have been In union, in partition only such; Otherwise wrought the will of the Most High; Yet, through all visitations and all trials, 9 Wordsworth here delicately hints that Lamb refrained from matrimonial ties on account of his sister, whose sad infirmity seemed to him to invest her claims with peculiar sacredness. And such, I believe, was the fact. Still they were faithful; like two vessels launch'd But turn we rather, let my spirit turn O gift divine of quiet sequestration! Is broken; yet why grieve? for Time but holds His moiety in trust, till Joy shall lead To the blest world where parting is unknown. ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS. [1835. GLAD TIDINGS. FOR ever hallow'd be this morning fair, Since the publication of Talfourd's Final Memorials of Charles Lamb, in 1848, the matter here referred to has become well known. Mary Lamb was subject to dreadful turns of insanity, during which she had to be separated from her brother, and kept in close confinement. In a letter to Coleridge, dated September 27, 1796, Lamb has the following: "My poor dear, dearest sister, in a fit of insanity, has been the death of her own mother. I was at hand only time enough to snatch the knife out of her grasp. She is at present in a madhouse, from whence I fear she must be moved to an hospital." 2 Of this series of Sonnets, much the greater number are not particularly suited to the purpose of this volume. But some of them, besides being exceedingly beautiful in themselves, are fully in keeping with that purpose, and are withal so mellow with Christian gentleness and wisdom, that I could not make up my mind to leave them out. |