Poems (Southey)/Volume 1/On my own Miniature Picture
On my own
MINIATURE PICTURE,
Taken at Two Years of Age.
And I was once like this! that glowing cheekWas mine, those pleasure-sparkling eyes; that browSmooth as the level lake, when not a breezeDies o'er the sleeping surface! twenty yearsHave wrought strange alteration! Of the friendsWho once so dearly prized this miniature,And loved it for its likeness, some are goneTo their last home; and some, estranged in heart,Beholding me with quick-averted glancePass on the other side! But still these huesRemain unalter'd, and these features wearThe look of Infancy and Innocence.I search myself in vain, and find no traceOf what I was: those lightly-arching lines Dark and o'erhanging now; and that mild faceSettled in these strong lineaments!—There wereWho form'd high hopes and flattering ones of theeYoung Robert! for thine eye was quick to speakEach opening feeling: should they not have knownWhen the rich rainbow on the morning cloudReflects its radiant dies, the husbandmanBeholds the ominous glory sad, and fearsImpending storms! they augur'd happily,For thou didst love each wild and wonderous taleOf faery fiction, and thine infant tongueLisp'd with delight the godlike deeds of GreeceAnd rising Rome; therefore they deem'd forsoothThat thou shouldst tread Preferment's pleasant path.Ill-judging ones! they let thy little feetStray in the pleasant paths of Poesy,And when thou shouldst have prest amid the crowd,There didst thou love to linger out the day,Loitering beneath the laurels barren shade.Spirit of Spenser! was the wanderer wrong?1796.