FROM DEVOTIONAL VERSES, 1826 (_See_ Letter 388, _page_ 746)

"But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart, that them mayest do it."--Deut. x.x.x. 14.

Say not The law divine Is hidden from thee, or far remov'd: That law within would shine, If there its glorious light were sought and lov'd.

Soar not on high, Nor ask who thence shall bring it down to earth; That vaulted sky Hath no such star, didst thou but know its worth.

Nor launch thy bark In search thereof upon a sh.o.r.eless sea, Which has no ark, No dove to bring this olive-branch to thee.

Then do not roam In search of that which wandering cannot win; At home! At home!

That word is plac'd, thy mouth, thy heart within.

Oh! seek it there, Turn to its teachings with devoted will; Watch unto prayer, And in the power of faith this law fulfil.

BARTON'S "THE TRANSLATION OF ENOCH"

FROM _NEW YEAR'S EVE_, 1828

(_See Letter_ 467, _page_ 841)

"And Enoch walked with G.o.d: and he was not; for G.o.d took him."

Genesis.

Through proudly through the vaulted sky Was borne Elisha's sire, And dazzling unto mortal eye His car and steeds of fire:

To me as glorious seems the change Accorded to thy worth; As instantaneous and as strange Thy exit from this earth.

Something which wakes a deeper thrill, These few brief words unfold, Than all description's proudest skill Could of that hour have told.

Fancy's keen eye may trace the course Elijah held on high: The car of flame, each fiery horse, Her visions may supply;--

But THY transition mocks each dream Framed by her wildest power, Nor can her mastery supreme _Conceive_ thy parting hour.

Were angels, with expanded wings, As guides and guardians given?

Or did sweet sounds from seraphs' strings Waft thee from earth to heaven?

'Twere vain to ask: we know but this-- Thy path from grief and time Unto eternity and bliss, Mysterious and sublime!

With G.o.d thou walkedst: and wast not!

And thought and fancy fail Further than this to paint thy lot, Or tell thy wondrous tale.

TALFOURD'S "VERSES IN MEMORY OF A CHILD NAMED AFTER CHARLES LAMB"

FROM THE FINAL MEMORIALS OF CHARLES LAMB

(_See_ Letter 469, _page_ 846)

Our gentle Charles has pa.s.s'd away From Earth's short bondage free, And left to us its leaden day And mist-enshrouded sea.

Here, by the restless ocean's side, Sweet hours of hope have flown, When first the triumph of its tide Seem'd omen of our own.

That eager joy the sea-breeze gave, When first it raised his hair, Sunk with each day's retiring wave, Beyond the reach of prayer.

The sun-blink that through drizzling mist, To flickering hope akin, Lone waves with feeble fondness kiss'd, No smile as faint can win;

Yet not in vain, with radiance weak, The heavenly stranger gleams-- Not of the world it lights to speak, But that from whence it streams.

That world our patient sufferer sought, Serene with pitying eyes, As if his mounting Spirit caught The wisdom of the skies.

With boundless love it look'd abroad For one bright moment given; Shone with a loveliness that aw'd, And quiver'd into Heaven.

A year made slow by care and toil Has paced its weary round, Since Death enrich'd with kindred spoil The snow-clad, frost-ribb'd ground.

Then LAMB, with whose endearing name Our boy we proudly graced, Shrank from the warmth of sweeter fame Than mightier Bards embraced.

Still 'twas a mournful joy to think Our darling might supply For years to us, a living link, To name that cannot die.

And though such fancy gleam no more On earthly sorrow's night, Truth's n.o.bler torch unveils the sh.o.r.e Which lends to both its light.

The nurseling there that hand may take, None ever grasp'd in vain, And smiles of well-known sweetness wake, Without their tinge of pain.

Though,'twixt the Child and child-like Bard, Late seemed distinction wide.

They now may trace in Heaven's regard, How near they were allied.

Within the infant's ample brow Blythe fancies lay unfurl'd, Which, all uncrush'd, may open now, To charm a sinless world.

Though the soft spirit of those eyes Might ne'er with LAMB'S compete-- Ne'er sparkle with a wit as wise, Or melt in tears, as sweet;

That calm and unforgotten look A kindred love reveals, With his who never friend forsook, Or hurt a thing that feels.

In thought profound, in wildest glee, In sorrows dark and strange, The soul of Lamb's bright infancy Endured no spot or change.

From traits of each our love receives For comfort, n.o.bler scope; While light, which child-like genius leaves.

Confirms the infant's hope;

And in that hope with sweetness fraught Be aching hearts beguiled, To blend in one delightful thought The POET and the CHILD!

EDWARD FITZGERALD'S "THE MEADOWS IN SPRING"

FROM HONE'S _YEAR BOOK_

(_See Letter_ 535, _page_ 938)

'Tis a sad sight To see the year dying; When autumn's last wind Sets the yellow wood sighing; Sighing, oh sighing!