visit him, and his wordly prospects were to receive an irrecoverable
shock,--the loss of his amiable wife, before they had been married
a twelvemonth, and soon after the birth of her child! This excellent
woman, to whom our poet was, for so short a time, united, gave rise to
some of his best pieces, particularly to the poem beginning, _The heaven
was cloudless_,[3] and that entitled _A Portrait, _in _Napoleon and
other Poems_. In this last piece the poet no less beautifully than truly
observes,--


To sympathies, which soothe and bless
Our life from day to day,
Which throw, with silent tenderness,
Fresh flowers across our way,
The heart must ever fondly cling:
But can the poet's sweetest string
Their loveliness display?
No--nor could Titian's self supply
Their living presence, once gone by.

The air, in which we breathe and live,
Eludes our touch and sight;
The fairest flowers their fragrance give
To stillness, and to night;
The softest sounds that music flings,
In passing, from her heaven-plumed wings,
Are trackless in their flight!
And thus life's sweetest bliss is known
To silent, grateful thought alone.