TO HELEN. WHEN Some grim sorceress, whose skill She sent him forth to gather up Or heaven's unnumbered stars to bring Thus Helen bids. her poet write The thanks he owes this morning's light; And "Give me," so he hears her say, "Four verses, only four, to-day." Dearest and best! she knows, if wit Each of her tones and of her looks Would have its four, not lines, but books. HOUSE OF COMMONS, July 7, 1836. SKETCH OF A YOUNG LADY FIVE MONTHS OLD. My pretty, budding, breathing flower, Could manage, just for half an hour, Sir Joshua's brush to borrow, I might immortalize a few Of all the myriad graces Which Time, while yet they all are new, With newer still replaces. I'd paint, my child, your deep blue eyes, I'd paint the fringe that round them lies, I'd oft retouch the dimpled cheek And the soft neck would keep me long, Nor less on those twin rounded arms Nor less upon the rosy charms Of every tiny finger; Nor slight the small feet, little one, That, though they neither walk nor run, But then your odd endearing ways What study ere could catch them? Your aimless gestures, endless plays What canvass ere could match them? Your lively leap of merriment, Your murmur of petition, Your serious silence of content, Your laugh of recognition. Here were a puzzling toil, indeed, For Art's most fine creations!- Grow on, sweet baby; we will need, No picture of your form or face, Your waking or your sleeping, But that which Love shall daily trace, Hereafter, when revolving years Have made you tall and twenty, And brought you blended hopes and fears, Feel all her virtues hard to paint, SONNET TO R. C. HILDYARD. PROFIT and praise attend you, wheresoe'er That you may win quick riches, high renown,- In which I first dared call my Helen mine, Or the sweet hour when first upon my ear Broke the shrill cry of little Adeline, The memory of your friendship, Friend sincere, Among such memories grateful I entwine. OCTOBER 15, 1836. |