Part 4 — TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A GENTLEMAN," IN THE ATHENAEUM GALLERY. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

It may be so—perhaps thou hast A warm and loving heart; I will not blame thee for thy face, Poor devil as thou art.

That thing, thou fondly deem'st a nose, Unsightly though it be,— In spite of all the cold world's scorn, It may be much to thee.

Those eyes,—among thine elder friends Perhaps they pass for blue;— No matter,—if a man can see, What more have eyes to do?

Thy mouth—that fissure in thy face By something like a chin,— May be a very useful place To put thy victual in.

I know thou hast a wife at home, I know thou hast a child, By that subdued, domestic smile Upon thy features mild.

That wife sits fearless by thy side, That cherub on thy knee; They do not shudder at thy looks, They do not shrink from thee.

Above thy mantel is a hook,— A portrait once was there; It was thine only ornament,— Alas! that hook is bare.

She begged thee not to let it go, She begged thee all in vain: She wept,—and breathed a trembling prayer To meet it safe again.

It was a bitter sight to see That picture torn away; It was a solemn thought to think What all her friends would say!

And often in her calmer hours, And in her happy dreams, Upon its long-deserted hook The absent portrait seems.

Thy wretched infant turns his head In melancholy wise, And looks to meet the placid stare Of those unbending eyes.

I never saw thee, lovely one,— Perchance I never may; It is not often that we cross Such people in our way;

But if we meet in distant years, Or on some foreign shore, Sure I can take my Bible oath I've seen that face before.