But, bending lowly to each holy story, Make this thy Chapel and thine Oratory. THE CHANGE. (Hone's Year Book, 1831.) [Charles Lamb inscribed these freakish verses "To Louisa M, adding, "Whom I used to call Monkey."] LOUISA serious grown and mild, Then you would clamber up my knees, Those things would scarce be proper now, But they are gone, I know not how, Time draws his finger o'er the scene; Each sportive sally-wild escape,--- EXISTENCE, CONSIDERED IN ITSELF, NO BLESSING. FROM THE LATIN OF PALINGENIUS. (The Athenæum, 7th July, 1832.) [As originally published in the Athenæum, this translation from the Latin of the Italian poet of the sixteenth century, Marcellus Palingenius, vide Zodiacus Vita, lib. 6, apud finem, had prefixed to it this explanatory note: The poet, after a seeming approval of suicide, from a consideration of the cares and crimes of life, finally rejecting it, discusses the negative importance of existence, contemplated in itself, without reference to good or evil."] OF these sad truths consideration had Thou shalt not fear to quit this world so mad, THE PARTING SPEECH OF THE CELESTIAL MESSENGER TO THE POET. FROM THE LATIN OF PALINGENIUS. (The Athenæum, 25th February, [Another passage from the same old Italian author's masterpiece.] BUT now time warns (my mission at an end) That to Jove's starry court I reascend; From whose high battlements I take delight To scan your earth, diminish'd to the sight, Pendent and round, and as an apple small, Self-propt, self-balanced, and secure from fall By her own weight; and how with liquid robe Blue Ocean girdles round her tiny In secret ambuscade join'd forces, Were 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; [it; And whatsoe'er they nimm'd, she hid 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 And each his wicked wits 'gan rub, How to bear off the famous Club; Thinking that they sans price or hire would Carry't straight 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 Whipp'd up the knaves, and, with a splice He kept on purpose, which before Had served for giants many a scoreTo 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 Essex ;) Thinking to brain them with his dextra, Or string them up upon the next tree. That Club-so equal fates condemnThey thought to catch, has now . catch'd them. Now, Hercules, we may suppose, On anniversaries, would try on And save the time of his Groom of the Stole. Besides, the smoke he had been in Nor envy, nor detraction, ever found A harbour yet; an understanding sound; Just views of right and wrong; perception full Of the deform'd, and of the beautiful, In life and manners; wit above her sex, Which, as a gem, her sprightly converse decks; Exuberant fancies, prodigal of mirth, To gladden woodland walk, or winter hearth; A noble nature, conqueror in the strife Of conflict with a hard discouraging life, Strengthening the veins of virtue, past the power Of those whose days have been one silken hour, Spoil'd fortune's pamper'd offspring; a keen sense Alike of benefit, and of offence. With reconcilement quick, that instant springs From the charged heart with nimble angel wings; While grateful feelings, like a signet sign'd By a strong hand, seem burnt into her mind. If these, dear friend, a dowry can confer Richer than land, thou hast them all in her; And beauty, which some hold the chiefest boon, Is in thy bargain for a make-weight thrown. TO THOMAS STOTHARD, R.A., ON HIS ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE POEMS OF MR. ROGERS. (The Athenæum, 21st December, 1833.) CONSUMMATE Artist, whose undying name With classic Rogers' shall go down to fame, Be this thy crowning work! In my young days How often have I with a child's fond gaze Pored on the pictured wonders thou hadst done: Clarissa mournful, and prim Grandison ! All Fielding's, Smollett's heroes, rose to view ; I saw, and I believed the phantoms true.. But, above all, that most romantic tale Did o'er my raw credulity prevail, Where Glums and Gawries wear mysterious things, That serve at once for jackets and for wings. Age, that enfeebles other men's designs, But heightens thine, and thy free draught refines. In several ways distinct you make us feel Graceful as Raphael, as Watteau genteel. Your lights and shades, as Titianesque, we praise; And warmly wish you Titian's length of days. TO CLARA N[OVELLO]. (The Athenæum, 26th July, 1834) THE Gods have made me most unmusical, With feelings that respond not to the call Of stringed harp or voice-obtuse and mute To hautboy, sackbut, dulcimer, and flute; King David's lyre, that made the madness flee From Saul, had been but a jew's-harp to me: Theorbos, violins, French horns, guitars, Leave in my wounded ears inflicted scars; I hate those trills, and shakes, and sounds that float Upon the captive air; I know no note, I sit at oratorios like a fish, |