42
MEMOIR
witness the dawn of his daughter's literary fortune, and to hail in it, as he must have done, some consoling prospects of that advantage and succour to the objects bereft of his protection, which his own unprosperous enterprises in later years had rendered so necessary.
The poem was, after a while, proceeded with; and its loveliest passages are evidences that she had sought and found, among the shadows of melancholy beauty, and the images of gentleness and peace which many of the subjects selected for illustration suggested to her, that balm for hurt minds which her own so much required: the poem closes with a tribute to the revered dead, which is one gush of exquisite and unextinguishable affection.
"My heart said, no name but Thine
Should be on this last page of mine.
My Father! though no more thine ear
Censure, or praise of mine can hear.
It soothes me to embalm thy name
With all my hope, my pride, my fame.
** ***
Alas! the tears that still will fall,
Are selfish in their fond recall.
If ever tears could win from Heaven
A loved one, and yet be forgiven,
Mine surely might! * * *
My own dead father, time may bring
Chance, change, upon his rainbow-wing;
But never will thy name depart—
The household god of thy child's heart,
Until thy orphan girl may share
The grave where her best feelings are.
Never, dear father, love can be
Like the dear love I had for thee."
These are among the closing lines of "The Troubadour," to which were added, "Poetical Sketches of Modern Pictures, and Historical Sketches," forming a volume, published by Hurst and Co., in