Note 128 — OPIE,
Reading edition
I fancy, notwithstanding the thin disguise of the title of the poem, that Mrs. Opie must have been thinking of this portrait when she wrote the following lines:
'To me how dear this twilight hour, Cheered by the faggot's varying blaze! If this be mine, I ask no more On morn's refulgent light to gaze: 'For now, while on His glowing cheek I see the fire's red radiance fall, The darkest seat I softly seek, And gaze on Him, unseen by all. 'His folded arms, his studious brow, His thoughtful eye, unmarked, I see; Nor could his voice or words bestow So dear, so true a joy on me.'