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　　WRITTEN ON THE DAY OF MY AUNT'S FUNERAL

　　Thou too art dead, ——! very kind

　　Hast thou been to me in my childish days,

　　Thou best good creature. I have not forgot

　　How thou didst love thy Charles, when he was yet

　　A prating schoolboy: I have not forgot

　　The busy joy on that important day,

　　When, child-like, the poor wanderer was content

　　To leave the bosom of parental love,

　　His childhood's play-place, and his early home,

　　For the rude fosterings of a stranger's hand,

　　Hard uncouth tasks, and school-boy's scanty fare.

　　How did thine eye peruse him round and round,

　　And hardly know him in his yellow coats 注释标题 The dress of Christ's Hospital, ,

　　Red leathern belt, and gown of russet blue!

　　Farewell, good aunt!

　　Go thou, and occupy the same grave-bed

　　Where the dead mother lies.

　　Oh my dear mother, oh thou dear dead saint!

　　Where's now that placid face, where oft hath sat

　　A mother's smile, to think her son should thrive

　　In this bad world, when she was dead and gone;

　　And when a tear hath sat (take shame, O son!)

　　When that same child has prov'd himself unkind.

　　One parent yet is left—a wretched thing,

　　A sad survivor of his buried wife,

　　A palsy-smitten, childish, old, old man,

　　A semblance most forlorn of what he was,

　　A merry cheerful man. A merrier man,

　　A man more apt to frame matter for mirth,

　　Mad jokes, and anticks for a Christmas eve;

　　Making life social, and the laggard time

　　To move on nimbly, never yet did cheer

　　The little circle of domestic friends.

　　February, 1797. The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 4