The Portrait Painter

No feeble glow of intellectual flame
Inform'd that Painter's heart; to none more due
Than him, the honours of domestic fame;
What hand, but his, so excellently knew
The shadow of our lineaments? In vain
The glance of Beauty dared his subtle skill,
Touch'd into all its sympathies again,
Kindled anew with all its power to kill;
Age smiled, portray'd in all its sober calm,
Unvext, of grandsire aspect, pale and meek;
And babyhood, with hands too small for harm;
And youth, with full and health-ensanguined cheek,
Show'd life-like on his chart, and boyhood sleek
Still wore his dimpled chin, and merry charm.