X.
Mark that poor Maiden, to her Sire interpreting the tale
There pictured of the Loved and Left,[40] until her cheek grows pale:—
Yon crippled Dwarf that sculptured Youth[41] eyeing with glances dim,
Wondering will he, in higher worlds, be tall and straight like him;—
XI.
How well they group with yonder pale but fire-eyed Artisan,
Who just has stopp'd to bid his boys those noble features scan
That sadden us for Wilkie! See! he tells them now the story
Of that once humble lad, and how he won his marble glory.
XII.
Not all alone thou weep'st in stone, poor Lady, o'er thy Chief,[42]
That huge-limb'd Porter, spell-struck there, stands sharer in thy grief.
Pert Cynic, scorn not his amaze; all savage as he seems,
What graceful shapes henceforward may whiten his heart in dreams!
XIII.
A long adieu, dark Years! to you, of war on field and flood,
Battle afar, and mimic war at hone to train our blood—
The ruffian Ring—the goaded Bull—the Lottery's gates of sin—
The all to nurse the outward brute, and starve the soul within!
XIV.
Here lives and breathes around us proof that those all-evil times
Are fled with their decrepit thoughts, their slaughter, and their crimes;
Long stood this Hall the type of all could Man's grim bonds increase—
Henceforth be it his Vestibule to hope, and light, and peace!
August, 1844.