 | The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang |  |
238
Ballade for the Laureate
Rhyme, in a late disdainful age,
Hath many and many an eager knight;
Each man of them, to print his page,
From every quarter wings his flight!
What tons of manuscripts alight
Here in the Row, how many a while,
For all can rhyme, when all can write—
The Master's yonder, in the Isle!
Hath many and many an eager knight;
Each man of them, to print his page,
From every quarter wings his flight!
What tons of manuscripts alight
Here in the Row, how many a while,
For all can rhyme, when all can write—
The Master's yonder, in the Isle!
Like Otus some, with giant rage,
But scarcely with a giant's might,
Ossa on Pelion engage
To pile, and scale Parnassus' height!
And some, with subtle nets and slight,
Entangle rhymes exceeding vile,
And wondrous adjectives unite—
The Master's yonder, in the Isle!
But scarcely with a giant's might,
Ossa on Pelion engage
To pile, and scale Parnassus' height!
And some, with subtle nets and slight,
Entangle rhymes exceeding vile,
And wondrous adjectives unite—
The Master's yonder, in the Isle!
239
Alas, the Muse they cannot cage,
These poets in a sorry plight,
Vain is the weary war they wage,
In vain they curse the critic's spite!
While grammar some neglect outright,
While others polish with the file,
Some fate contrives their toil to blight—
The Master's yonder, in the Isle!
These poets in a sorry plight,
Vain is the weary war they wage,
In vain they curse the critic's spite!
While grammar some neglect outright,
While others polish with the file,
Some fate contrives their toil to blight—
The Master's yonder, in the Isle!
Envoy
Prince, Arnold's jewel-work is bright,And Browning, in his iron style,
Doth gold on his rude anvil smite—
The Master's yonder, in the Isle!
| The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang | |