Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel, And impotent to bear! Such once was hers-to think and think On severed love, and only sink From anguish to despair! But nature to its inmost part Faith had refined; and to her heart A peaceful cradle given : Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest Within a breeze-fanned rose's breast Was ever Spirit that could bend So promptly from her lofty throne ?— Pale was her hue; yet mortal cheek When aught that breathes had felt a wound; But hushed be every thought that springs Her quiet is secure; No thorns can pierce her tender feet, As snowdrop on an infant's grave, As Vesper, ere the star hath kissed The mountain top, or breathed the mist Thou takest not away, O Death! The future brightens on our sight; XIV. ELEGIAC MUSINGS IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT OF THE LATE SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART. [THESE verses were in part composed on horseback during a storm, while I was on my way from Coleorton to Cambridge: they are alluded to elsewhere.] In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument bearing an Inscription which, in deference to the earnest request of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words:-'Enter not into judgment with thy servant, O LORD!' WITH copious eulogy in prose or rhyme Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time, Yet here at least-though few have numbered days That sense, the bland philosophy of life, Which checked discussion ere it warmed to strife- That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed;- Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's dream Rebuke us not!-The mandate is obeyed That said, "Let praise be mute where I am laid;" To the cold marble, waits upon thy dust; Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose When towers and temples fall, to speak of Thee! Recal not there the wisdom of the Tomb, Green ivy risen from out the cheerful earth, Will fringe the lettered stone; and herbs spring forth, That could not lie concealed where Thou wert known; Nov. 1830. XV. WRITTEN AFTER THE DEATH OF [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 Talfourd, 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 feelings, I should dwell not only on her genius and intellectual powers, but upon the delicacy and refinement of manner which she maintained inviolable under 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 C. 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. Had such been his lot, he would most likely have been preserved from the indulgences of social humours and fancies which were often injurious to himself, and causes of severe regret to his friends, without really benefiting the object of his misapplied kindness.] To a good Man of most dear memory This Stone is sacred. Here he lies apart From the great city where he first drew breath, By duty chained. Not seldom did those tasks |