The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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THE TRIUMPH OF THE BARDS:
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
86
THE TRIUMPH OF THE BARDS:
An Answer to “The Battle of the Bards”
Nay! not among the “bards” the “battle” rages,
Not there—but rather 'mid the snake-tongued throng
Whose hate nor truth disarms nor time assuages,
Who, hating sunlight, hate the kings of song.
Not there—but rather 'mid the snake-tongued throng
Whose hate nor truth disarms nor time assuages,
Who, hating sunlight, hate the kings of song.
“Where I have failed, shall others triumph? Never!
My voice is hushed. Shall other songs succeed?”
So whines the ephemeral songless creature ever:
Lies are his weapons, hatred is his creed.
My voice is hushed. Shall other songs succeed?”
So whines the ephemeral songless creature ever:
Lies are his weapons, hatred is his creed.
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While in the mist and mire these reptiles quarrel,
Emerging, each, from some malodorous lair,
To bard on bard time's hand concedes the laurel,
Star after star lights darkling wastes of air.
Emerging, each, from some malodorous lair,
To bard on bard time's hand concedes the laurel,
Star after star lights darkling wastes of air.
While poets' steps ascend the sunlit mountains,
While fair before them shines the untrodden snow,
While blue beside them gleam the unsullied fountains,
The pigmies' “battle” rages far below.
While fair before them shines the untrodden snow,
While blue beside them gleam the unsullied fountains,
The pigmies' “battle” rages far below.
The poet's fame is sure and safe for ever;
His is the realm of everlasting Art:
The songs that move men's souls can perish never,
For nought can die that thrills one human heart.
His is the realm of everlasting Art:
The songs that move men's souls can perish never,
For nought can die that thrills one human heart.
While Spring arrays in gems each tenderest flower,
Yet fairer in his song their bloom shall be;
His is the wild wind's strength, the tempest's power,
Morn's splendour on the imperishable sea.
Yet fairer in his song their bloom shall be;
His is the wild wind's strength, the tempest's power,
Morn's splendour on the imperishable sea.
While human souls are stormed by passion's madness,
While sweet love's joy pours starlight through the gloom,
Still is the poet king of grief, of gladness,
Master of time and conqueror of the tomb.
While sweet love's joy pours starlight through the gloom,
Still is the poet king of grief, of gladness,
Master of time and conqueror of the tomb.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |