Weep for what thou’st won,
Weep for what thou didst not do,
And more for what thou’st done.”
She often amused herself by setting her own compositions to music very prettily.
We are not told in what manner Lady Caroline received the tidings of Byron’s death, but we have a detailed account of her driving one summer’s day on the Great North Road, not far from Brocket, in an open carriage, accompanied by her husband, when, at a turn in the road, they came upon a long and melancholy procession. It proved to be the funeral of a peer, from the fact that the hearse was preceded by a horseman bearing a coronet on a cushion. The lady stopped her carriage and asked the question whose funeral it was. ‘We are taking Lord Byron to Newstead to be buried,’ was the reply. The shock was terrible. Lady Caroline reached home, more dead than alive, and fell into a species of trance, from which the waking was slow and tedious. She would sit for hours with her hands clasped on her lap, silent and listless; and it was long before she could be prevailed on to resume her usual occupations, or busy herself with her books, music, or drawing. When the invalid was a little better, change of air and scene was prescribed, and she was sent abroad. She wrote from Paris to Lady Morgan, asking her to look in a cabinet, in a certain room at Melbourne House, where she would find a miniature[[5]] of Lord Byron: ‘Pray send it me without delay.’ Coming back to England, she again took up her abode at Brocket, where her husband often visited her, although his official and Parliamentary duties were a sufficient reason for his residing mostly in London. When he went over to Ireland as Chief Secretary, he kept up a regular correspondence with his wife (now a confirmed invalid), and with those to whose care she was consigned. In Dublin he was a frequent visitor at the house of Lady Morgan, who was much attached to Lady Caroline, to give her news of his wife’s health, or show her some of the letters he received from Brocket,—such, for instance, as, ‘My dearest William,—Since I wrote last I have been a great sufferer. Tapping is a dreadful sensation, it turns me so deadly cold and sick.... But everybody is so good to me. All the members of both our families, Emily, and Caroline have been to see me, and the whole county has called to inquire. My dear brother, too, has been with me, and is coming again. He reads to me, which is so soothing; but what pleased me most of all was your dear letter, in which you said you loved me and forgave me.’
[5]. Lady Caroline Lamb bequeathed this portrait to Lady Morgan, at whose death it was sold by auction.
In proportion as her bodily health failed, so did the sufferer become more and more gentle, patient, and grateful for kindness. The evil spirit had been cast out. She grew so much worse that it was deemed advisable to remove her to London for the benefit of medical advice. On the 26th of January 1828, Lady Morgan received a letter from Mr. William Ponsonby (afterwards Lord De Mauley), to announce his sister’s death. ‘From the beginning of her illness,’ he says, ‘she had no expectation of recovery, and only felt anxious to live long enough to see Mr. Lamb once again. In this she was gratified, and was still able to converse with him, and enjoy his society. But for the past three days it was apparent that her strength was rapidly declining, and on Sunday night, at about nine o’clock, she expired without a struggle. A kinder or more tender heart never ceased to beat, and it was a great consolation to her and to us that her mind was fully prepared and reconciled to the awful change. She viewed the near approach of death with calmness, and during her long and severe sufferings her patience never forsook her, or her affectionate consideration for those around her. Mr. Lamb has felt and acted as I knew he would on this sad occasion.’
The friendship of the brothers-in-law had never been interrupted. Although fully prepared for a great change in his wife’s appearance, William Lamb was more shocked than he expected to be. The short time that intervened between his return and her death was marked by tenderness on his part and affection on hers; and in after years the widower always spoke of ‘Caroline’ with gentleness and forbearance.
Lady Morgan thus describes her friend’s appearance: ‘A slight tall figure, dark lustrous eyes, with fair hair and complexion; a charming voice, sweet, low, caressing, which exercised a wonderful influence over most people. She was eloquent also, but had only one subject—herself. She was the slave of imagination and of impulse.’