SO N N ET.
Written on seeing Bewick's Chalk-Drawing of the Head of Hazlitt.
Thus Hazlitt looked There's life in every line !
Soul—language—fire that colour could not give,
See on that brow how pale-robed thought divine, t
In an embodied radiance seems to live
Ah! in the gaze of that entranced eye,
Humid, yet burning, there beams passion's flame,
Lighting the cheek, and quivering through the frame;
While round the lips, the odour of a sigh
Yet hovers fondly, and its shadow sits
Beneath the channel of the glowing thought
And fire-clothed eloquence, which comes in fits
Like Pythiac inspiration!—Bewick, taught
By thee, in vain doth slander's venom'd dart
Do its foul work 'gainst him. This head must own a heart.