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TO THOMAS STOTHARD, R. A.
#1
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TO THOMAS STOTHARD, R. A.

Thy fancy lives in a delightful sphere,
Stothard,-fit haunt for spirit so benign;
For never since those southern masters fine,
Whose pictured shapes like their own souls appear

Reflected many a way in waters clear,
Has the true woman's gentle mien divine
Looked so, as in those breathing heads of thine,
With parted locks, and simple cheek sincere.

Therefore, against our climate's chilly hold,
Thou hast a nest in sunny glades and bowers ;
And there, about thee, never growing old,

Are these fair things, clear as the lily flowers,
Such as great Petrarch loved,-only less cold,
More truly virtuous, and of gladdening powers.


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