COLERIDGE, I love you for dedicating your poetry to Bowles. Genius of the sacred fountain of tears, it was he who led you gently by the hand through all this valley of weeping, showed you the dark green yew trees and the willow shades where, by the fall of waters, you might indulge an uncomplaining melancholy, a delicious regret for the past, or weave fine visions of that awful future,
“When all the vanities of life’s brief day Oblivion’s hurrying hand hath swept away, And all its sorrows, at the awful blast Of the archangel’s trump, are but as shadows past.”
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I have another sort of dedication in my head for my few
things, which I want to know if you approve of, and can insert. I mean to
inscribe them to my sister. It will be
unexpected, and it will give her pleasure; or do you think it will look
whimsical at all? As I have not spoke to her about it, I can easily reject the
idea. But there is a monotony in the affections, which people living together
or, as we do now, very frequently seeing each other, are apt to give in to: a
sort of indifference in the expression of kindness for each
| 58 | LETTERS OF C. AND M. LAMB | Nov. |
Under this title the following motto, which, for want of room, I put over leaf, and desire you to insert, whether you like it or no. May not a gentleman choose what arms, mottoes, or armorial bearings the herald will give him leave, without consulting his republican friend, who might advise none? May not a publican put up the sign of the Saracen’s Head, even though his undiscerning neighbour should prefer, as more genteel, the Cat and Gridiron?
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(MOTTO.)
“This beauty, in the blossom of my youth,
When my first fire knew no adulterate incense,
Nor I no way to flatter but my fondness,
In the best language my true tongue could tell me,
And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me,
I sued and served. Long did I love this lady.”
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THE DEDICATION.
THE FEW FOLLOWING POEMS,
CREATURES OF THE FANCY AND THE FEELING
IN LIFE’S MORE VACANT HOURS,
PRODUCED, FOR THE MOST PART, BY
LOVE IN IDLENESS,
ARE,
WITH ALL A BROTHER’S FONDNESS,
INSCRIBED TO
MARY ANN LAMB,
THE AUTHOR’S BEST FRIEND AND SISTER.
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| 1796 | LAMB’S MOTHER | 59 |
This is the pomp and paraphernalia of parting, with which I take my leave of a passion which has reigned so royally (so long) within me; thus, with its trappings of laureatship, I fling it off, pleased and satisfied with myself that the weakness troubles me no longer. I am wedded, Coleridge, to the fortunes of my sister and my poor old father. Oh! my friend, I think sometimes, could I recall the days that are past, which among them should I choose? not those “merrier days,” not the “pleasant days of hope,” not “those wanderings with a fair hair’d maid,” which I have so often and so feelingly regretted, but the days, Coleridge, of a mother’s fondness for her school-boy. What would I give to call her back to earth for one day, on my knees to ask her pardon for all those little asperities of temper which, from time to time, have given her gentle spirit pain; and the day, my friend, I trust will come; there will be “time enough” for kind offices of love, if “Heaven’s eternal year” be ours. Hereafter, her meek spirit shall not reproach me. Oh, my friend, cultivate the filial feelings! and let no man think himself released from the kind “charities” of relationship: these shall give him peace at the last; these are the best foundation for every species of benevolence. I rejoice to hear, by certain channels, that you, my friend, are reconciled with all your relations. ’Tis the most kindly and natural species of love, and we have all the associated train of early feelings to secure its strength and perpetuity. Send me an account of your health; indeed I am solicitous about you. God love you and yours.
