Lines to a Distinguished Artist. 71 



Thence rush the living waves of liquid fire, 



And toss them high in many an awful spire. 



Far o'er the crater's mouth the dark'ning cloud 



Reflects the lurid light, befitting shroud 



Of nature's agonies, unheard-of woe ! 



The burning deluge sweeps to vales below ; 



It seeks the city full of living men, 



They look, they sleep, ah ! ne'er to wake again. 



The hand of art still holds the instrument 



Of labour. The sage in narrow cell is pent. 



Safe in his triple walls a miser stood, 



Gazing on gold, yet anxious was his mood. 



He feared the loss of what before him lay, 



Of hoped-for riches dreaded the delay. 



Oh, vision sad ! want riots upon wealth, 



Nor hoarded treasure gives the bliss of health. 



From yonder lofty porch a trembler hies : 



Vain ! vain thy speed ! Hope's promises are lies, 



What though attendant maidens bear thy train, 



Can youth and beauty evermore remain ! 



Around are scattered all the gems of art. 



Those costly pledges of a loving heart ; 



They sparkle still, their lustre cannot die ; 



But whither fled the gladsome beaming eye ? 



It shines no more on earth ! A form is seen, 



How changed, alas ! from what it once had been ! 



Thousands of years have swept time's troubled sea, 



Still thou preserv'st thy dread identity. 



Proud Mount of wonders ! shade of centuries ! 



Unveil the store that yet within thee lies : 



Unroll to man the records of an age 



Which faintly lives in old tradition's page ; 



True to thy trust, all- guileless, silent, grave. 



Time's rich memorials from oblivion save. 



Then shall thy thrilling praise the deed prolong, 



Her trumpet Fame shall lend the bard his song ; 



And ages distant, as thy tale is old, 



Shall still repeat the story thou hast told. WM. NAPIER. 



LINES 



ADDRESSED TO A DISTINGUISHED ARTIST. 



TITLES are " airy nothings," some will cry : 

 Alai ! how few the proverb can deny ! 

 Yet, we will answer, as pertains to thee ! 

 Thy name thy genius, will immortal be 

 While light and shadow last ; and, with delight 

 We hail our Wilkie with new honours bright, 

 A worthy, gentle-hearted British knight ! 

 Scotland, with pride, thy ancestry may claim, 

 While happy England treasures up thy fame 

 In works that live and breathe, with nature rife, 

 The faithful transcripts all of human life ! 

 These are thy proud achievements, and to you, 

 So skilled in the pictorial and the true, 

 Renown, and title, were but tributes due. 



