Sonnet: To a Friend

Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when firstI scann'd that face of feeble infancy:For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burstAll I had been, and all my child might be!But when I saw it on its Mother's arm,And hanging at her bosom (she the whileBent o'er its features with a tearful smile)Then I was thrill'd and melted, and most warmImpress'd a Father's kiss: and all beguil'dOf dark remembrance and presageful fear,I seem'd to see an angel-form appear—'Twas even thine, beloved woman mild!So for the Mother's sake the Child was dear,And dearer was the Mother for the Child.