III. IN THE ALBUM OF EDITH S IN Christian world MARY the garland wears! What air of fragrance ROSAMOND throws round! Have bragged in verse. Of coarsest household stuff You BARBARA resist, or MARIAN? IV. WRITTEN AT CAMBRIDGE. I was not trained in academic bowers, And to those learned streams I nothing owe Which copious from those twin fair founts do flow; Mine have been anything but studious hours. Yet can I fancy, wandering 'mid thy towers, My brow seems tightening with the doctor's cap, Strange forms of logic clothe my admiring speech, * Old Ramus' ghost is busy at my brain, And my skull teems with notions infinite. Be still, ye reeds of Camus, while I teach Truths which transcend the searching schoolmen's vein, And half had staggered that stout Stagirite.† The famous French logician. † Aristotle. CHARLES LLOYD.* TO NOVEMBER. DISMAL November! me it soothes to view, From the wet fruit-tree; or the gray stone-wall, Enfold the neighboring copse; while, as they pass, The silent rain-drops bend the long rank grass, Which wraps some blossom's unmaturéd birth. And through my cot's lone lattice, glimmering gray, The damp, chill evenings have a charm for me, Dismal November! for strange vacancy Summoneth then my very heart away! Till from mist-hidden spire comes the slow knell, "Nugæ Canora. Poems by Charles Lloyd, Author of 'Edmund Oliver,' 'Isabel,' and translator of Alfieri." BERNARD BARTON. I. TO MY WIFE. THE butterfly, which sports on gaudy wing; The sunflower, in broad daylight glistening; Whose industry for future hours provides; The gentle streamlet, gladding as it glides Unseen along; the flower which gives the lea Fragrance and loveliness, are types of thee, And of the active worth thy modest merit hides. II. TO A GRANDMOTHER. "Old age is dark and unlovely."— OSSIAN. O, SAY not so! A bright old age is thine, At aught of which the hand of God bereaves, A peaceful throne, which thou wert formed to fill ; Thy children ministers who do thy will; And those grandchildren, sporting round thy knee, Thy little subjects, looking up to thee As one who claims their fond allegiance still. * A good sonnet. Dixi. CHARLES LAMB. VOL. I. 15 |