Sonnet: To a Friend who asked how I felt

Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first

        I scann'd that face of feeble infancy:

For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst

        All 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 while

        Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile)

Then I was thrill'd and melted, and most warm

Impress'd a father's kiss: and all beguil'd

        Of dark remembrance and presageful fear,

        I seem'd to see an angel-form appear—

'Twas even thine, belovéd woman mild!

        So for the mother's sake the child was dear,

And dearer was the mother for the child.