TO EMMA, LEARNING LATIN, AND DESPONDING

(_By Mary Lamb_. ? 1827)

Droop not, dear Emma, dry those falling tears, And call up smiles into thy pallid face, Pallid and care-worn with thy arduous race: In few brief months thou hast done the work of years.

To young beginnings natural are these fears.

A right good scholar shalt thou one day be, And that no distant one; when even she, Who now to thee a star far off appears, That most rare Latinist, the Northern Maid-- The language-loving Sarah[15] of the Lake-- Shall hail thee Sister Linguist. This will make Thy friends, who now afford thee careful aid, A recompense most rich for all their pains, Counting thy acquisitions their best gains.

[Footnote 15: Daughter of S.T. Coleridge, Esq.; an accomplished linguist in the Greek and Latin tongues, and translatress of a History of the Abipones. [Note in _Blackwood_.]]

LINES

_Addressed to Lieut. R.W.H. Hardy, R.N., on the Perusal of his Volume of Travels in the Interior of Mexico_

'Tis pleasant, lolling in our elbow chair, Secure at home, to read descriptions rare Of venturous traveller in savage climes; His hair-breadth 'scapes, toil, hunger--and sometimes The merrier pa.s.sages that, like a foil To set off perils past, sweetened that toil, And took the edge from danger; and I look With such fear-mingled pleasure thro' thy book, Adventurous Hardy! Thou a _diver_[16] art, But of no common form; and for thy part Of the adventure, hast brought home to the nation _Pearls_ of discovery--_jewels_ of observation.

ENFIELD, _January_, 1830.

[Footnote 16: Captain Hardy practised this art with considerable success. [Note in _Athenaeum_.]]

LINES

[_For a Monument Commemorating the Sudden Death by Drowning of a Family, of Four Sons and Two Daughters_]

(1831)

Tears are for lighter griefs. Man weeps the doom, That seals a single victim to the tomb.

But when Death riots--when, with whelming sway, Destruction sweeps a family away; When infancy and youth, a huddled ma.s.s, All in an instant to oblivion pa.s.s, And parents' hopes are crush'd; what lamentation Can reach the depth of such a desolation?

Look upward, Feeble Ones! look up and trust, That HE who lays their mortal frame in dust, Still hath the immortal spirit in his keeping-- In Jesus' sight they are not dead but sleeping.

TO C. ADERS, ESQ.

_On his Collection of Paintings by the old German Masters_

(1831)

Friendliest of men, ADERS, I never come Within the precincts of this sacred Room, But I am struck with a religious fear, Which says "Let no profane eye enter here."

With imagery from Heav'n the walls are clothed, Making the things of Time seem vile and loathed.

Spare Saints, whose bodies seem sustain'd by Love, With Martyrs old in meek procession move.

Here kneels a weeping Magdalen, less bright To human sense for her blurr'd cheeks; in sight Of eyes, new-touch'd by Heav'n, more winning fair Than when her beauty was her only care.

A Hermit here strange mysteries doth unlock In desart sole, his knees worn by the rock.

There Angel harps are sounding, while below Palm-bearing Virgins in white order go.

Madonnas, varied with so chaste design, While all are different, each seems genuine, And hers the only Jesus: hard outline, And rigid form, by DURER'S hand subdued To matchless grace, and sacro-sanct.i.tude; DURER, who makes thy slighted Germany Vie with the praise of paint-proud Italy.

Whoever enter'st here, no more persume To name a Parlour, or a Drawing Room; But, bending lowly to each holy Story, Make this thy Chapel, and thine Oratory.

HERCULES PACIFICATUS

_A Tale from Suidas_

(1831)

In days of yore, ere early Greece Had dream'd of patrols or police, A crew of rake-h.e.l.ls _in terrorem_ Spread wide, and carried all before 'em, Rifled the poultry, and the women, And held that all things were in common; Till Jove's great Son the nuisance saw, And did abate it by Club Law.

Yet not so clean he made his work, But here and there a rogue would lurk In caves and rocky fastnesses, And shunn'd the strength of Hercules.

Of these, more desperate than others, A pair of ragam.u.f.fin brothers In secret ambuscade join'd forces, To carry on unlawful courses.

These Robbers' names, enough to shake us, Where, Strymon one, the other Cacus.

And, more the neighbourhood to bother, A wicked dam they had for mother, Who knew their craft, but not forbid it, And whatsoe'er they nymm'd, she hid it; Received them with delight and wonder, When they brought home some 'special plunder; Call'd them her darlings, and her white boys, Her ducks, her dildings--all was right boys-- "Only," she said, "my lads, have care Ye fall not into BLACK BACK'S snare; For, if he catch, he'll maul your _corpus_, And clapper-claw you to some purpose."

She was in truth a kind of witch, Had grown by fortune-telling rich; To spells and conjurings did tackle her, And read folks' dooms by light oracular; In which she saw, as clear as daylight, What mischief on her bairns would a-light; Therefore she had a special loathing For all that own'd that sable clothing.

Who can 'scape fate, when we're decreed to 't?

The graceless brethren paid small heed to 't.

A brace they were of st.u.r.dy fellows, As we may say, that fear'd no colours, And sneer'd with modern infidelity At the old gipsy's fond credulity.

It proved all true tho', as she'd mumbled-- For on a day the varlets stumbled On a green spot--_sit linguae fides_-- 'Tis Suidas tells it--where Alcides Secure, as fearing no ill neighbour, Lay fast asleep after a "Labour."

His trusty oaken plant was near-- The prowling rogues look round, and leer, And each his wicked wits 'gan rub, How to bear off the famous Club; Thinking that they _sans_ price or hire wou'd Carry 't strait home, and chop for fire wood.

'Twould serve their old dame half a winter-- You stare? but 'faith it was no splinter; I would not for much money 'spy Such beam in any neighbour's eye.

The villains, these exploits not dull in, Incontinently fell a pulling.

They found it heavy--no slight matter-- But tugg'd, and tugg'd it, till the clatter 'Woke Hercules, who in a trice Whipt up the knaves, and with a splice, He kept on purpose--which before Had served for giants many a score-- To end of Club tied each rogue's head fast; Strapping feet too, to keep them steadfast; And pickaback them carries townwards, Behind his brawny back head-downwards, (So foolish calf--for rhyme I bless X-- Comes _nolens volens_ out of Ess.e.x); Thinking to brain them with his _dextra_, Or string them up upon the next tree.

That Club--so equal fates condemn-- They thought to catch, has now catch'd them.

Now Hercules, we may suppose, Was no great dandy in his clothes; Was seldom, save on Sundays, seen In calimanco, or nankeen; On anniversaries would try on A jerkin spick-span new from lion; Went bare for the most part, to be cool, And save the time of his Groom of the Stole; Besides, the smoke he had been in In Stygian gulf, had dyed his skin To a natural sable--a right h.e.l.l-fit-- That seem'd to careless eyes black velvet.

The brethren from their station scurvy, Where they hung dangling topsy turvy, With horror view the black costume, And each persumes his hour is come!

Then softly to themselves 'gan mutter The warning words their dame did utter; Yet not so softly, but with ease Were overheard by Hercules.

Quoth Cacus--"This is he she spoke of, Which we so often made a joke of."

"I see," said the other, "thank our sin for't, 'Tis BLACK BACK sure enough--we're in for 't."

His G.o.dship who, for all his brag Of roughness, was at heart a wag, At his new name was tickled finely, And fell a laughing most divinely.

Quoth he, "I'll tell this jest in heaven-- The musty rogues shall be forgiven."

So in a twinkling did uncase them, On mother earth once more to place them-- The varlets, glad to be unhamper'd, Made each a leg--then fairly scamper'd.

THE PARTING SPEECH OF THE CELESTIAL MESSENGER TO THE POET