did frame
        A growing Maiden, who, from day to day
        Advancing still in stature, and in grace,
        Would all her lonely Father’s griefs efface,
        And his paternal cares with usury pay. 
        I still retain the phantom, as I can;
        And call the gentle image—­Quillinan.

IN THE ALBUM OF CATHERINE ORKNEY

Canadia! boast no more the toils
Of hunters for the furry spoils;
Your whitest ermines are but foils

        To brighter Catherine Orkney.

That such a flower should ever burst
From climes with rigorous winter curst!—­
We bless you, that so kindly nurst

        This flower, this Catherine Orkney.

We envy not your proud display
Of lake—­wood—­vast Niagara: 
Your greatest pride we’ve borne away. 

        How spared you Catherine Orkney?

That Wolfe on Heights of Abraham fell,
To your reproach no more we tell: 
Canadia, you repaid us well

        With rearing Catherine Orkney.

O Britain, guard with tenderest care
The charge allotted to your share: 
You’ve scarce a native maid so fair,

        So good, as Catherine Orkney.

TO T. STOTHARD, ESQ.

On His Illustrations of the Poems of Mr. Rogers

(1833)

Consummate Artist, whose undying name
With classic Rogers shall go down to fame,
Be this thy crowning work!  In my young days
How often have I with a child’s fond gaze
Pored on the pictured wonders[13] thou hadst done: 
Clarissa mournful, and prim Grandison! 
All Fielding’s, Smollett’s heroes, rose to view;
I saw, and I believed the phantoms true. 
But, above all, that most romantic tale[14]
Did o’er my raw credulity prevail,
Where Glums and Gawries wear mysterious things,
That serve at once for jackets and for wings. 
Age, that enfeebles other men’s designs,
But heightens thine, and thy free draught refines. 
In several ways distinct you make us feel—­
Graceful as Raphael, as Watteau genteel. 
Your lights and shades, as Titianesque, we praise;
And warmly wish you Titian’s length of days.

[Footnote 13:  Illustrations of the British Novelists.]

[Footnote 14:  Peter Wilkins.]

TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE

(1833)

What makes a happy wedlock?  What has fate
Not given to thee in thy well-chosen mate? 
Good sense—­good humour;—­these are trivial things,
Dear M——­, that each trite encomiast sings. 
But she hath these, and more.  A mind exempt
From every low-bred passion, where contempt,
Nor envy, nor detraction, ever found
A harbour yet; an understanding sound;
Just views of right and wrong; perception