The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb Volume IV Part 2

When her son, her Douglas died, To the steep rock's fearful side Fast the frantic Mother hied--

O'er her blooming warrior dead Many a tear did Scotland shed, And shrieks of long and loud lament From her Grampian hills she sent.

Like one awakening from a trance, She met the shock of[1] Lochlin's lance; On her rude invader foe Return'd an hundred fold the blow, Drove the taunting spoiler home; Mournful thence she took her way To do observance at the tomb Where the son of Douglas lay.

Round about the tomb did go In solemn state and order slow, Silent pace, and black attire, Earl, or Knight, or good Esquire; Whoe'er by deeds of valour done In battle had high honours won; Whoe'er in their pure veins could trace The blood of Douglas' n.o.ble race.

With them the flower of minstrels came, And to their cunning harps did frame In doleful numbers piercing rhymes, Such strains as in the older times Had sooth'd the spirit of Fingal, Echoing thro' his father's hall.

"Scottish maidens, drop a tear O'er the beauteous Hero's bier!

Brave youth, and comely 'bove compare, All golden shone his burnish'd hair; Valour and smiling courtesy Play'd in the sun-beams of his eye.

Clos'd are those eyes that shone so fair, And stain'd with blood his yellow hair.

Scottish maidens, drop a tear O'er the beauteous Hero's bier!"

"Not a tear, I charge you, shed For the false Glenalvon dead; Unpitied let Glenalvon lie, Foul stain to arms and chivalry!"

"Behind his back the traitor came, And Douglas died without his fame.

Young light of Scotland early spent, Thy country thee shall long lament; And oft to after-times shall tell, In Hope's sweet prime my Hero fell."

[Footnote 1: Denmark.]

TO CHARLES LLOYD

_An Unexpected Visitor_

(_January, 1797. Text of 1818_)

Alone, obscure, without a friend, A cheerless, solitary thing, Why seeks, my Lloyd, the stranger out?

What offering can the stranger bring

Of social scenes, home-bred delights, That him in aught compensate may For Stowey's pleasant winter nights, For loves and friendships far away?

In brief oblivion to forego Friends, such as thine, so justly dear, And be awhile with me content To stay, a kindly loiterer, here:

For this a gleam of random joy Hath flush'd my unaccustom'd cheek; And, with an o'er-charg'd bursting heart, I feel the thanks I cannot speak.

Oh! sweet are all the Muses' lays, And sweet the charm of matin bird; 'Twas long since these estranged ears The sweeter voice of friend had heard.

The voice hath spoke: the pleasant sounds In memory's ear in after time Shall live, to sometimes rouse a tear, And sometimes prompt an honest rhyme.

For, when the transient charm is fled, And when the little week is o'er, To cheerless, friendless, solitude When I return, as heretofore,

Long, long, within my aching heart The grateful sense shall cherish'd be; I'll think less meanly of myself, That Lloyd will sometimes think on me.

A VISION OF REPENTANCE

(_1796? Text of 1818_)

I saw a famous fountain, in my dream, Where shady path-ways to a valley led; A weeping willow lay upon that stream, And all around the fountain brink were spread Wide branching trees, with dark green leaf rich clad, Forming a doubtful twilight-desolate and sad.

The place was such, that whoso enter'd in Disrobed was of every earthly thought, And straight became as one that knew not sin, Or to the world's first innocence was brought; Enseem'd it now, he stood on holy ground, In sweet and tender melancholy wrapt around.

A most strange calm stole o'er my soothed sprite; Long time I stood, and longer had I staid, When, lo! I saw, saw by the sweet moon-light, Which came in silence o'er that silent shade, Where, near the fountain, SOMETHING like DESPAIR Made, of that weeping willow, garlands for her hair.

And eke with painful fingers she inwove Many an uncouth stem of savage thorn-- "The willow garland, _that_ was for her love, And _these_ her bleeding temples would adorn."

With sighs her heart nigh burst, salt tears fast fell, As mournfully she bended o'er that sacred well.

To whom when I addrest myself to speak, She lifted up her eyes, and nothing said; The delicate red came mantling o'er her cheek, And, gath'ring up her loose attire, she fled To the dark covert of that woody shade, And in her goings seem'd a timid gentle maid.

Revolving in my mind what this should mean, And why that lovely lady plained so; Perplex'd in thought at that mysterious scene, And doubting if 'twere best to stay or go, I cast mine eyes in wistful gaze around, When from the shades came slow a small and plaintive sound:

"PSYCHE am I, who love to dwell In these brown shades, this woody dell, Where never busy mortal came, Till now, to pry upon my shame.

"At thy feet what thou dost see The waters of repentance be, Which, night and day, I must augment With tears, like a true penitent,

"If haply so my day of grace Be not yet past; and this lone place, O'er-shadowy, dark, excludeth hence All thoughts but grief and penitence."

_"Why dost thou weep, thou gentle maid!

And wherefore in this barren shade Thy hidden thoughts with sorrow feed?

Can thing so fair repentance need?"_

"O! I have done a deed of shame, And tainted is my virgin fame, And stain'd the beauteous maiden white, In which my bridal robes were dight."

"_And who the promised spouse, declare: And what those bridal garments were._"

"Severe and saintly righteousness Compos'd the clear white bridal dress; JESUS, the son of Heaven's high king, Bought with his blood the marriage ring.

"A wretched sinful creature, I Deem'd lightly of that sacred tie, Gave to a treacherous WORLD my heart, And play'd the foolish wanton's part.

"Soon to these murky shades I came, To hide from the sun's light my shame.

And still I haunt this woody dell, And bathe me in that healing well, Whose waters clear have influence From sin's foul stains the soul to cleanse; And, night and day, I them augment With tears, like a true penitent, Until, due expiation made, And fit atonement fully paid, The lord and bridegroom me present, Where in sweet strains of high consent, G.o.d's throne before, the Seraphim Shall chaunt the extatic marriage hymn."

"Now Christ restore thee soon "--I said, And thenceforth all my dream was fled.

POEMS WRITTEN IN THE YEARS 1795-98, AND NOT REPRINTED BY LAMB