To The Portrait Of "A Gentleman" In The Athenieum Gallery

It may be so, - perhaps thou hast     A warm and loving heart;     I will not blame thee for thy face,     Poor devil as thou art.     That thing thou fondly deem'st a nose,     Unsightly though it be, -     In spite of all the cold world's scorn,     It may be much to thee.     Those eyes, - among thine elder friends     Perhaps they pass for blue, -     No matter, - if a man can see,     What more have eyes to do?     Thy mouth, - that fissure in thy face,     By something like a chin, -     May be a very useful place     To put thy victual in.     I know thou hast a wife at home,     I know thou hast a child,     By that subdued, domestic smile     Upon thy features mild.     That wife sits fearless by thy side,     That cherub on thy knee;     They do not shudder at thy looks,     They do not shrink from thee.     Above thy mantel is a hook, -     A portrait once was there;     It was thine only ornament, -     Alas! that hook is bare.     She begged thee not to let it go,     She begged thee all in vain;     She wept, - and breathed a trembling prayer     To meet it safe again.     It was a bitter sight to see     That picture torn away;     It was a solemn thought to think     What all her friends would say!     And often in her calmer hours,     And in her happy dreams,     Upon its long-deserted hook     The absent portrait seems.     Thy wretched infant turns his head     In melancholy wise,     And looks to meet the placid stare     Of those unbending eyes.     I never saw thee, lovely one, -     Perchance I never may;     It is not often that we cross     Such people in our way;     But if we meet in distant years,     Or on some foreign shore,     Sure I can take my Bible oath,     I've seen that face before.