APELLES, hearing that his boy Had just expired, his only joy! [him, Although the sight with anguish tore Bade place his dear remains before him. He seized his brush, his colours spread; And--"Oh! my child, accept,"--he said "('Tis all that I can now bestow,) "This tribute of a father's woe!" Then, faithful to the twofold part, Both of his feelings and his art, He closed his eyes with tender care, And formed at once a fellow pair. His brow with amber locks beset, And lips he drew, not livid yet; And shaded all that he had done To a just image of his son. Thus far is well. But view again The cause of thy paternal pain! Thy melancholy task fulfil! It needs the last, last touches still. Again his pencil's powers he tries, For on his lips a smile he spies: And still his cheek unfaded shows The deepest damask of the rose. Then, heedful to the finished whole, With fondest eagerness he stole, Till scarce himself distinctly knew The cherub copied from the true. Now, painter, cease! Thy task is done. Long lives this image of thy son; Nor short-lived shall the glory prove, Or of thy labour or thy love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LIVING DEAD by RALPH CHAPLIN THE BEGGAR MAID [AND KING COPHETUA] by ALFRED TENNYSON TO THE RIGHT HON! WILLIAM EARL OF DARTMOUTH by PHILLIS WHEATLEY FOR MY CHILD by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS BIRTHDAYS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES ON A CERTAIN SPINSTER WHO LINGERED IN CHURCH by ANNA BUNSTON DE BARY |