The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb
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Chapter 172 : That lordly creature next to him A Lion is. Survey each limb.Observe the texture of hi
That lordly creature next to him A Lion is. Survey each limb.
Observe the texture of his claws, The ma.s.sy thickness of those jaws; His mane that sweeps the ground in length, Like Samson's locks, betok'ning strength.
In force and swiftness he excels Each beast that in the forest dwells; The savage tribes him king confess Throughout the howling wilderness.
Woe to the hapless neighbourhood, When he is press'd by want of food!
Of man, or child, of bull, or horse, He makes his prey; such is his force.
A waste behind him he creates, Whole villages depopulates.
Yet here within appointed lines How small a grate his rage confines!
This place methinks resembleth well The world itself in which we dwell.
Perils and snares on every ground Like these wild beasts beset us round.
But Providence their rage restrains, Our heavenly Keeper sets them chains; His goodness saveth every hour His darlings from the Lion's power.
THE CONFIDANT
Anna was always full of thought As if she'd many sorrows known, Yet mostly her full heart was fraught With troubles that were not her own; For the whole school to Anna us'd to tell Whatever small misfortunes unto them befell.
And being so by all belov'd, That all into her bosom pour'd Their dearest secrets, she was mov'd To pity all--her heart a h.o.a.rd, Or storehouse, by this means became for all The sorrows can to girls of tender age befall.
Though individually not much Distress throughout the school prevail'd, Yet as she shar'd it all, 'twas such A weight of woe that her a.s.sail'd, She lost her colour, loath'd her food, and grew So dull, that all their confidence from her withdrew.
Released from her daily care, No longer list'ning to complaint, She seems to breathe a different air, And health once more her cheek does paint.
Still Anna loves her friends, but will not hear Again their list of grievances which cost so dear.
THOUGHTLESS CRUELTY
There, Robert, you have kill'd that fly-- And should you thousand ages try The life you've taken to supply, You could not do it.
You surely must have been devoid Of thought and sense, to have destroy'd A thing which no way you annoy'd-- You'll one day rue it.
'Twas but a fly perhaps you'll say, That's born in April, dies in May; That does but just learn to display His wings one minute,
And in the next is vanish'd quite.
A bird devours it in his flight-- Or come a cold blast in the night, There's no breath in it.
The bird but seeks his proper food-- And Providence, whose power endu'd That fly with life, when it thinks good, May justly take it.
But you have no excuses for't-- A life by Nature made so short, Less reason is that you for sport Should shorter make it.
A fly a little thing you rate-- But, Robert, do not estimate A creature's pain by small or great; The greatest being
Can have but fibres, nerves, and flesh, And these the smallest ones possess, Although their frame and structure less Escape our seeing.
EYES
Lucy, what do you espy In the cast in Jenny's eye That should you to laughter move?
I far other feelings prove.
When on me she does advance Her good-natur'd countenance, And those eyes which in their way Saying much, so much would say, They to me no blemish seem, Or as none I them esteem; I their imperfection prize Above other clearer eyes.
Eyes do not as jewels go By the brightness and the show, But the meanings which surround them, And the sweetness s.h.i.+nes around them.
Isabel's are black as jet, But she cannot that forget, And the pains she takes to show them Robs them of the praise we owe them.
Ann's, though blue, affected fall; Kate's are bright, but fierce withal; And the sparklers of her sister From ill-humour lose their l.u.s.tre.
Only Jenny's eyes we see, By their very plainness, free From the vices which do smother All the beauties of the other.
PENNY PIECES
"I keep it, dear Papa, within my glove."
"You do--what sum then usually, my love, Is there deposited? I make no doubt, Some Penny Pieces you are not without."
"O no, Papa, they'd soil my glove, and be Quite odious things to carry. O no--see, This little bit of gold is surely all That I shall want; for I shall only call For a small purchase I shall make, Papa, And a mere trifle I'm to buy Mamma, Just to make out the change: so there's no need To carry Penny Pieces, Sir, indeed."
"O now I know then why a blind man said Unto a dog which this blind beggar led,-- 'Where'er you see some fine young ladies, Tray, Be sure you lead me quite another way.
The poor man's friend fair ladies us'd to be; But now I find no tale of misery Will ever from their pockets draw a penny.'-- The blind man did not see _they wear not any_."
THE RAINBOW
After the tempest in the sky How sweet yon Rainbow to the eye!
Come, my Matilda, now while some Few drops of rain are yet to come, In this honeysuckle bower Safely shelter'd from the shower, We may count the colours o'er.-- Seven there are, there are no more; Each in each so finely blended, Where they begin, or where are ended, The finest eye can scarcely see.
A fixed thing it seems to be; But, while we speak, see how it glides Away, and now observe it hides Half of its perfect arch--now we Scarce any part of it can see.
What is colour? If I were A natural philosopher, I would tell you what does make This meteor every colour take: But an unlearned eye may view Nature's rare sights, and love them too.
Whenever I a Rainbow see, Each precious tint is dear to me; For every colour find I there, Which flowers, which fields, which ladies wear; My favourite green, the gra.s.s's hue, And the fine deep violet-blue, And the pretty pale blue-bell, And the rose I love so well, All the wondrous variations Of the tulip, pinks, carnations, This woodbine here both flower and leaf;-- 'Tis a truth that's past belief, That every flower and every tree, And every living thing we see, Every face which we espy, Every cheek and every eye, In all their tints, in every shade, Are from the Rainbow's colours made.
THE FORCE OF HABIT
A little child, who had desired To go and see the Park guns fired, Was taken by his maid that way Upon the next rejoicing day.
Soon as the unexpected stroke Upon his tender organs broke, Confus'd and stunn'd at the report, He to her arms fled for support, And begg'd to be convey'd at once Out of the noise of those great guns, Those naughty guns, whose only sound Would kill (he said) without a wound: So much of horror and offence The shock had giv'n his infant sense.
Yet this was He in after days Who fill'd the world with martial praise, When from the English quarter-deck His steady courage sway'd the wreck Of hostile fleets, disturb'd no more By all that vast conflicting roar, That sky and sea did seem to tear, When vessels whole blew up in air, Than at the smallest breath that heaves, When Zephyr hardly stirs the leaves.
CLOCK STRIKING
Did I hear the church-clock a few minutes ago, I was ask'd, and I answer'd, I hardly did know, But I thought that I heard it strike three.
Said my friend then, "The blessings we always possess We know not the want of, and prize them the less; The church-clock was no new sound to thee.
"A young woman, afflicted with deafness a year, By that sound you scarce heard, first perceiv'd she could _hear;_ I was near her, and saw the girl start With such exquisite wonder, such feelings of pride, A happiness almost to terror allied, She shew'd the sound went to her heart."
WHY NOT DO IT, SIR, TO-DAY?
"Why so I will, you noisy bird, This very day I'll advertise you, Perhaps some busy ones may prize you.
A fine-tongu'd parrot as was ever heard, I'll word it thus--set forth all charms about you, And say no family should be without you."
Thus far a gentleman address'd a bird, Then to his friend: "An old procrastinator, Sir, I am: do you wonder that I hate her?
Though she but seven words can say, Twenty and twenty times a day She interferes with all my dreams, My projects, plans, and airy schemes, Mocking my foible to my sorrow: I'll advertise this bird to-morrow."
