9
Literary Gazette, 14th February, 1829, Page 113
ORIGINAL POETRY.
LINES ON NEWTON'S PICTURE OF THE
DISCONSOLATE.
The present is the painter's—never words
Could be so eloquent of wretchedness
As are that bowed-down form, that hidden face,
Which but to look on fills the eyes with tears:
But in the past the poet has his part,
For memory is the music of the lute.
What is thy history, lady?—may I give
Thy sorrow language?
The room was hung with pictures, and the tints
Of a rich sunset touched them as with life;
The crimson varied o'er each cheek—the light
Was tremulous within the azure eyes—
The braided auburn hair was waved with gold
And she who gazed looked not more actual life
Than did her pictured likeness; only tears
Bespoke the sadness of reality.
There were six paintings; all were very fair,
And of resembling beauty—chestnut curls,
A sunny autumn on the brow of youth,
Eyes of that blue which lights the violet
When rain-drops hang upon it, and each cheek
Was as a rose-leaf crushed on ivory.
