by Thomas Westwood.
Originally published in Fraser's Magazine for Town and Country (John W. Parker and Son) vol.52 #311 (Nov 1855).
I.
A witty picture! What a merry soul
He must have been, that made it! Think ye so?
With your permission, sirs, I will unroll
One chapter of his history. You shall know
Its pregnant meanings. This young artist had
A trick of painting things the world was glad
To laugh at, but not buy. The crowd would stand
And eye them archly, and applaud their fun,
And laugh, and laugh again, and so pass on;—
And while they laughed, the artist's busy hand
Still plied its craft—a garret was the scene,
His boon companions, twain—one, with gaunt mien,
Famine, sat next his heart, devoured his breath—
The other, crouching on the threshold, Death.
II.
A merry soul! At last, the skeleton hand
Stopped, like the index of a clock, which turns
With time, no more. Famine, that ever yearns
For a fresh prey, passed out. Death took his stand
Beside him then. A faint voice gasped 'Thank God.'—
His human voice, in welcome, when the rod
Of heaven's exceeding mercy laid him low.
And all the while, round the shop-windows, loud
Rang out the laughter of the idle crowd,
At his gay fancies! ... Oh! if ye could know,
Could, with your own eyes see and inly prove,
How half the blossoming things art's garden bears,
Strike their roots deep in agony and tears,
We should have fewer laughters, but more love.