Conquest Of Prejudice
Unto a Yorkshire school was sent
A negro youth to learn to write,
And the first day young Juba went
All gazed on him as a rare sight.
But soon with altered looks askance
They view his sable face and form,
When they perceive the scornful glance
Of the head boy, young Henry Orme.
He in the school was first in fame:
Said he, 'It does to me appear
To be a great disgrace and shame
A black should be admitted here.'
His words were quickly whispered round,
And every boy now looks offended;
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poem by Charles Lamb
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Living Without God In The World
Mystery of God! thou brave & beauteous world!
Made fair with light, & shade, & stars, & flowers;
Made fearful and august with woods & rocks,
Jagg'd precipice, black mountain, sea in storms;
Sun, over all-that no co-rival owns,
But thro' heaven's pavement rides in despite
Or mockery of the Littleness of Man!
I see a mighty Arm, by Man unseen,
Resistless-not to be controuled; that guides,
In solitude of unshared energies,
All these thy ceaseless miracles, O World!
Arm of the world, I view thee, & I muse
On Man; who, trusting in his mortal strength,
Leans on a shadowy staff-a staff of dreams.
We consecrate our total hopes and fears
To idols, flesh & blood, our love (heaven's due),
Our praise & admiration; praise bestowed
By man on man, and acts of worship done
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poem by Charles Lamb
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The Beasts In The Tower
Within the precincts of this yard,
Each in his narrow confines barred,
Dwells every beast that can be found
On Afric or on Indian ground.
How different was the life they led
In those wild haunts where they were bred,
To this tame servitude and fear,
Enslaved by man, they suffer here!
In that uneasy close recess
Couches a sleeping lioness;
That next den holds a bear; the next
A wolf, by hunger ever vext;
There, fiercer from the keeper's lashes
His teeth the fell hyena gnashes;
That creature on whose back abound
Black spots upon a yellow ground,
A panther is, the fairest beast
That haunteth in the spacious East.
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poem by Charles Lamb
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The Text
One Sunday eve a grave old man,
Who had not been at church, did say,
'Eliza, tell me, if you can,
What text our Doctor took to-day?'
She hung her head, she blushed for shame,
One single word she did not know,
Nor verse nor chapter she could name,
Her silent blushes told him so.
Again said he, 'My little maid,
What in the sermon did you hear?
Come tell me that, for that may aid
Me to find out the text, my dear.'
A tear stole down each blushing cheek,
She wished she better had attended;
She sobbing said, when she could speak,
She heard not till 'twas almost ended.
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poem by Charles Lamb
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On an Infant dying as soon as born
I SAW where in the shroud did lurk
A curious frame of Nature's work;
A floweret crush'd in the bud,
A nameless piece of Babyhood,
Was in her cradle-coffin lying;
Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying:
So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb
For darker closets of the tomb!
She did but ope an eye, and put
A clear beam forth, then straight up shut
For the long dark: ne'er more to see
Through glasses of mortality.
Riddle of destiny, who can show
What thy short visit meant, or know
What thy errand here below?
Shall we say that Nature blind
Check'd her hand, and changed her mind,
Just when she had exactly wrought
A finish'd pattern without fault?
Could she flag, or could she tire,
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poem by Charles Lamb
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On A Picture Of The Finding Of Moses By Pharoah's Daughter
This picture does the story express
Of Moses in the bulrushes.
How livelily the painter's hand
By colours makes us understand!
Moses that little infant is.
This figure is his sister. This
Fine stately lady is no less
A personage than a princess,
Daughter of Pharaoh, Egypt's king;
Whom Providence did hither bring
This little Hebrew child to save.
See how near the perilous wave
He lies exposëd in the ark,
His rushy cradle, his frail bark!
Pharaoh, king of Egypt land,
In his greatness gave command
To his slaves, they should destroy
Every new-born Hebrew boy.
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poem by Charles Lamb
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Written A Year After The Events
Alas! how am I chang'd! Where be the tears,
The sobs, and forc'd suspensions of the breath,
And all the dull desertions of the heart,
With which I hung o'er my dead mother's corse?
Where be the blest subsidings of the storm
Within, the sweet resignedness of hope
Drawn heavenward, and strength of filial love,
In which I bow'd me to my father's will?
My God, and my Redeemer! keep not thou
My soul in brute and sensual thanklessness
Seal'd up; oblivious ever of that dear grace,
And health restor'd to my long-loved friend,
Long-lov'd, and worthy known. Thou didst not leave
Her soul in death! O leave not now, my Lord,
Thy servants in far worse, in spiritual death!
And darkness blacker than those feared shadows
Of the valley all must tread. Lend us thy balms,
Thou dear Physician of the sin-sick soul,
And heal our cleansed bosoms of the wounds
With which the world has pierc'd us thro' and thro'.
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poem by Charles Lamb
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The Magpie's Nest, Or A Lesson Of Docility
A FABLE
When the arts in their infancy were,
In a fable of old 'tis exprest,
A wise magpie constructed that rare
Little house for young birds, called a nest.
This was talked of the whole country round,
You might hear it on every bough sung,
'Now no longer upon the rough ground
Will fond mothers brood over their young.
'For the magpie with exquisite skill
Has invented a moss-covered cell,
Within which a whole family will
In the utmost security dwell.'
To her mate did each female bird say,
'Let us fly to the magpie, my dear;
If she will but teach us the way,
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poem by Charles Lamb
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The Boy And The Skylark
A FABLE.
'A wicked action fear to do,
When you are by yourself; for though
You think you can conceal it,
A little bird that's in the air
The hidden trespass shall declare,
And openly reveal it.'
Richard this saying oft had heard,
Until the sight of any bird
Would set his heart a-quaking;
He saw a host of wingëd spies
For ever o'er him in the skies,
Note of his actions taking.
This pious precept, while it stood
In his remembrance, kept him good
When nobody was by him;
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poem by Charles Lamb
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A Vision Of Repentance
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,
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poem by Charles Lamb
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