With black, as if with sable tapestry hung,
Light pinnacles rise taper; further yet
Swells out in solemn mass a dusky veil
Of purple crimson,-while bright streaks of red
Start out in gleam-like tint, to tell of veins
Which the slow-winning sea, in distant times,
Shall bare to unborn gazers.

If this scene

Grow too fantastic for thy pensive thought,
Climb either swelling down, and gaze with joy
On the blue ocean, pour'd around the heights,
As it embraced the wonders of that shield
Which the vow'd Friend of slain Patroclus wore,
To grace his fated valour; nor disdain

The quiet of the vale, though not endow'd
With such luxurious beauty as the coast
Of Undercliff embosoms;-mid those lines
Of scanty foliage, thoughtful lanes and paths,
And cottage roofs, find shelter; the blue stream,
That with its brief vein almost threads the isle,
Flows blest with two grey towers, beneath whose shade
The village life sleeps trustfully,-whose rites
Touch the old weather-harden'd fisher's heart
With child-like softness, and shall teach the boy
Who kneels, a sturdy grandson, at his side,
When his frail boat amidst the breakers pants,
To cast the anchor of a Christian hope
In an unrippled haven. Then rejoice,
That in remotest point of this sweet isle,

Which with fond mimicry combines each shape

Of the Great Land that, by the ancient bond (Sea-parted once, and sea-united now),

Binds her in unity-a Spirit breathes

On cliff, and tower, and valley, by the side
Of cottage-fire, and the low grass-grown grave,
Of Home on English earth, and Home in Heaven!

VERSES

TO THE MEMORY OF A CHILD NAMED AFTER CHARLES LAMB, WHO DIED AT BRIGHTON, 30TH DECEMBER, 1835,

OUR gentle Charles has pass'd away
From Earth's short bondage free,
And left to us its leaden day

And mist-enshrouded sea.

*The child who bore the name of Charles Lamb, and shared largely in his af fections, survived him just a year-Lamb's death having taken place on the 27th December, 1834. He had been taken to Brighton in the hope of restoration from mild sea air, and at first seemed revived by its influence; but severe weather set in, our hopes withered, and he sunk, leaving us the consolation of a most beautiful image in his death-a lighting-up and ennobling the face at the last, which I cannot consent to refer to mere physical causes. The thoughts expressed in these verses-if they deserve the name-were suggested at the time when we lost him; but I could not then find the heart to attempt putting them into rhyme, notwithstanding the opinion of the nurse who watched his patient decay, "That Master Charles ought to have verses written upon him ;" and have only just accomplished her wish. From a similar feeling I abstained from publishing among Lamb's letters the following little note, on his being informed of the use I had made of his name; but I have a pleasure (scarcely melancholy) in adding it now.

"DEAR T

"You could not have told me of a more friendly thing than you have been doing. I am proud of my namesake. I shall take care never to do any dirty action, pick pockets, or anyhow get myself hang'd, for fear of reflecting ignominy upon your young Crisom I have now a motive to be good. I shall not omnis moriar, my name borne down the black gulf of oblivion. I shall survive in eleven letters -five more than Cæsar. Possibly I shall come to be knighted, or more

SIR C. L. TALFOURD, Bt.

Yet hath it an authorist's twang with it, which will wear out with my name for poetry. Give him a smile from me till I see him. If you do not drop down be

Here, by the restless ocean's side,
Sweet hours of hope have flown,
When first the triumph of its tide
Seem'd omen of our own.

That eager joy the sea-breeze gave,
When first it raised his hair,
Sunk with each day's retiring wave,
Beyond the reach of prayer.

The sun-blink that through drizzling mist,
To flickering hope akin,

Far waves with feeble fondness kiss'd,
No smile as faint can win;

Yet not in vain with radiance weak
The heavenly stranger gleams-
Not of the world it lights to speak,
But that from whence it streams.

That world our patient sufferer sought,
Serene with pitying eyes,
As if his mounting Spirit caught
The wisdom of the skies.

fore, some day in the week after next I will come and take one night's lodging with you, if convenient, before you go hence. You shall name it. We are in town, tamen speciali gratiâ, but by no arrangement can get near you. Believe us both, with the greatest regards, yours and Mrs. Talfourd's.

"I come as near it as I can."

"CHARLES LAMB-PHILO-TALFOURD.

With boundless love it look'd abroad
For one bright moment given,
Shone with a loveliness that aw'd,
And quiver'd into Heaven.

A

year made slow by care and toil Has pac'd its weary round,

Since Death's enrich'd with kindred spoil The snow-clad, frost-ribb'd ground.

Then LAMB, with whose endearing name Our boy we proudly grac'd,

Shrank from the warmth of sweeter fame

Than ever Bard embrac'd.

Still 't was a mournful joy to think

Our darling might supply,
For years on earth, a living link

To name that cannot die.

And though such fancy gleam no more
On earthly sorrow's night,

Truth's noble torch unveils the shore
Which lends to both its light.

The nurseling there that hand may take None ever grasp'd in vain,

And smiles of well-known sweetness wake

Without their tinge of pain.