Incompetent my song to raise To its just height thy praise, Great Mill!

That by thy motion proper (No thanks to wind, or sail, or working rill) Grinding that stubborn corn, the Human will, Turn'st out men's consciences, That were begrimed before, as clean and sweet As flower from purest wheat, Into thy hopper.

All reformation short of thee but nonsense is, Or human, or divine.

VI

Compared with thee, What are the labours of that Jumping Sect, Which feeble laws connive at rather than respect?

Thou dost not b.u.mp, Or jump, But _walk_ men into virtue; betwixt crime And slow repentance giving breathing time, And leisure to be good; Instructing with discretion demi-reps How to direct their steps.

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 Of immortality; Seeing that clearly Thy system all is merely Peripatetic.

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, l.u.s.ty 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!--

VII

Kindly hearts have I known; Kindly hearts, they are flown; Here and there if but one Linger yet uneffaced, Imbecile tottering elves, Soon to be wreck'd on shelves, These scarce are half themselves, With age and care crazed.

VIII

But this day f.a.n.n.y Hutton Her last dress has put on; Her fine lessons forgotten, She died, as the dunce died: And prim Betsy Chambers, Decay'd in her members, No longer remembers Things, as she once did;

IX

And prudent Miss Wither Not in jest now doth _wither_, And soon must go--whither Nor I well, nor you know; And flaunting Miss Waller, _That_ soon must befal her, Whence none can recal her, Though proud once as Juno![11]

[Footnote 11: Here came, in _Alb.u.m 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 ALb.u.m OF EDITH S[OUTHEY] (1833)

In 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 coa.r.s.est household stuff Should homely JOAN be fashioned. But can 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 Alb.u.m_