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85
LINES TO A FRIEND.
And must we part, dear friend? well, be it so!Still I would pay some tribute ere I go,
Some slight memorial which may serve to tell
That thy affection is remember'd well;
For this, I need no aid from those divine
And haughty sisters, the immortal Nine,
One thought will set me from their bondage free,
One dear, one grateful thought—the thought of thee.
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With no dark clouds to tell of tempest nigh;
And if at times a mist has seem'd to rise,
And dim its brightness, still the shadow lies
Not on thy heart, but mine, whose way-ward will
Doth oft embitter joy with fear of ill.
Oh, if my hasty words or changeful mood,
The constant heritage of youthful blood,
Have e'er caused painful feelings to awake,
Forgive them,—wilt thou?—for the writer's sake.
Believe me, 'midst those scenes to which I go,
Each brook would seem far clearer in its flow,
More fair the landscape, more serene the air,
Wert thou but with me in such joys to share,
But still kind thoughts, which distance cannot sway,
Oft cheer the weary wanderer on his way,
And mine, unchanged, will ever fondly roam
Unto the loved ones in my far-off home.
And now, dear friend, farewell: I've sought to pay
My promised tribute in a simple way;
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Accuse his want of skill, but not of heart—
At least my pen hath sought with truth to tell
That heart's warm feelings—once again, farewell!
I attach a particular value to these lines. Not on account of any intrinsic merit I may suppose them to possess, but because, as a boyish attempt, they were spoken kindly and approvingly of, by one whose memory will always be associated in my mind with every feeling of veneration and gratitude—the late Charles Lamb.
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