 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
THE RECOMPENSE.
THROUGH the mazy market-place
A gentle Poet thrid his way;
Sad yet beauteous was his face—
Sad yet sweet his lay.
A gentle Poet thrid his way;
Sad yet beauteous was his face—
Sad yet sweet his lay.
In the people's eyes looked he,
(As he would read each stranger heart,)
While his song so solemnly
Talked with each apart.
(As he would read each stranger heart,)
While his song so solemnly
Talked with each apart.
“Silver have I none,” he said—
“Nor golden store have I,” quoth he;
Thus he sung as on he sped,
Harping solemnly.
“Nor golden store have I,” quoth he;
Thus he sung as on he sped,
Harping solemnly.
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Then the people knelt them down,
With golden gifts and jewels rare—
Bringing for his brow a crown,
Woven of flowerets fair.
With golden gifts and jewels rare—
Bringing for his brow a crown,
Woven of flowerets fair.
But the Poet's harp no more
With silver singing gently thrilled,
And his voice, so sweet before,
Evermore was stilled.
With silver singing gently thrilled,
And his voice, so sweet before,
Evermore was stilled.
For the jewels and the gold
Were broidered on his shroud, (they say,)
And upon his bosom cold,
Withering flowerets lay.
Were broidered on his shroud, (they say,)
And upon his bosom cold,
Withering flowerets lay.
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |