Charles Lamb

(10 February 1775 – 27 December 1834 / London)

The Lame Brother - Poem by Charles Lamb

My parents sleep both in one grave;
My only friend's a brother.
The dearest things upon the earth
We are to one another.


A fine stout boy I knew him once,
With active form and limb;
Whene'er he leaped, or jumped, or ran,
O I was proud of him!


He leaped too far, he got a hurt,
He now does limping go.-
When I think on his active days,
My heart is full of woe.


He leans on me, when we to school
Do every morning walk;
I cheer him on his weary way,
He loves to hear my talk:


The theme of which is mostly this,
What things he once could do.
He listens pleased-then sadly says,
'Sister, I lean on you.'


Then I reply, 'Indeed you're not
Scarce any weight at all.-
And let us now still younger years
To memory recall.


'Led by your little elder hand,
I learned to walk alone;
Careful you used to be of me,
My little brother John.


'How often, when my young feet tired,
You've carried me a mile!-
And still together we can sit,
And rest a little while.


'For our kind master never minds,
If we're the very last;
He bids us never tire ourselves
With walking on too fast.'


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 10, 2010



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