 | The poetical works of Charles Lamb |  |
178
IN MY OWN ALBUM.
Fresh clad from heaven in robes of white,
A young probationer of light,
Thou wert, my soul, an Album bright.
A young probationer of light,
Thou wert, my soul, an Album bright.
A spotless leaf; but thought, and care,
And friend and foe, in foul or fair,
Have “written strange defeatures” there;
And friend and foe, in foul or fair,
Have “written strange defeatures” there;
And Time with heaviest hand of all,
Like that fierce writing on the wall,
Hath stamp'd sad dates—he can't recal;
Like that fierce writing on the wall,
Hath stamp'd sad dates—he can't recal;
And error gilding worst designs—
Like speckled snake that strays and shines—
Betrays his path by crooked lines;
Like speckled snake that strays and shines—
Betrays his path by crooked lines;
And vice hath left his ugly blot;
And good resolves, a moment hot,
Fairly began—but finish'd not;
And good resolves, a moment hot,
Fairly began—but finish'd not;
179
And fruitless, late remorse doth trace—
Like Hebrew lore a backward pace—
Her irrecoverable race.
Like Hebrew lore a backward pace—
Her irrecoverable race.
Disjointed numbers; sense unknit;
Huge reams of folly, shreds of wit;
Compose the mingled mass of it.
Huge reams of folly, shreds of wit;
Compose the mingled mass of it.
My scalded eyes no longer brook
Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look—
Go, shut the leaves, and clasp the book.
Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look—
Go, shut the leaves, and clasp the book.
| The poetical works of Charles Lamb | |