One, whom on Earth a Saviour bless'd,
And on whose features left impress'd
The Contact's holy sign:
A light, a halo, and a grace,
So pure th' expression of that face.

Or, has the Painter's skill _alone_
Such grace and glory given?
Clothed thee with attributes which seem
Creations of an angel's dream,
To raise the soul to Heaven?
_No, as he found thee, he arrayed,
And Genius taught what God had made!_



WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM

OF THE LADY OF COUNSELLOR D. POLLOCK.


Joy to thee, Lady! many years of joy
To thee--and thine--that springtide of the heart,
The bliss of virtuous love, without alloy.
And all that health and gladsome life impart.
How gracefully hast thou thy task perform'd,
The watchful tender mother, matchless wife;
All woman boasts--thou hast indeed adorn'd--
Thine the high merit of an useful life.
For ever cheerful, though the Tragic Muse[1]