“Think not, my friend, with supercilious air,
I rank the Portrait as beneath thy care:
Blest be the pencil, which from death can save,
The semblance of the virtuous, wise, and brave;
That youth and emulation, still may gaze
On those inspiring forms of ancient days,
And, from the force of bright example, bold,
Rival their worth, “and be what they behold”
Blest be the pencil! whose consoling power,
Soothing soft friendship in her pensive hour,