Poems By John Moultrie. New ed |
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THE THREE MINSTRELS.
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350
THE THREE MINSTRELS.
PROLOGUE.
Small hope—perchance small wish have I
To leave a poet's name behind,
Inscribed upon my country's mind
In characters too deep to die.
To leave a poet's name behind,
Inscribed upon my country's mind
In characters too deep to die.
My genius is not of the brood
Which spreads its wings and soars sublime
Beyond the bounds of space and time,
Nor have I well the Muses woo'd,
Which spreads its wings and soars sublime
Beyond the bounds of space and time,
Nor have I well the Muses woo'd,
Nor served them with a perfect heart,
Still with such melody content
As nature to my fingering lent,
With scant appliances of art.
Still with such melody content
As nature to my fingering lent,
With scant appliances of art.
Nor have I lack'd my full reward—
The pleasure given to gentle minds,—
The genuine sympathy which binds
The souls of listener and of bard.
The pleasure given to gentle minds,—
The genuine sympathy which binds
The souls of listener and of bard.
If some half-conscious thirst for fame
With simpler wishes hath been blent,
Such have I won;—I am content
Alive to bear the poet's name.
With simpler wishes hath been blent,
Such have I won;—I am content
Alive to bear the poet's name.
351
What profit would be mine when dead
From laurels planted round my grave?
What injury, though fool or knave
Should spurn it with contemptuous tread?
From laurels planted round my grave?
What injury, though fool or knave
Should spurn it with contemptuous tread?
If some chance words escape decay—
A thought—an image here and there,
By gentle hearts preserved with care,
When I from earth have past away—
A thought—an image here and there,
By gentle hearts preserved with care,
When I from earth have past away—
So be it; more is gain'd than sought;
Meanwhile let me enjoy the good
Which since my life's young lustihood
Until its wane, the Muse hath brought;
Meanwhile let me enjoy the good
Which since my life's young lustihood
Until its wane, the Muse hath brought;
High friendships—sympathies benign
From some who o'er the hearts of men
Reign deathless—minds of ampler ken
And insight more profound than mine.
From some who o'er the hearts of men
Reign deathless—minds of ampler ken
And insight more profound than mine.
Content with what I have and am,
Nor envying them what they may be,
This verse I consecrate to three
Great spirits—“in memoriam.”
Nor envying them what they may be,
This verse I consecrate to three
Great spirits—“in memoriam.”
THE FIRST MINSTREL.
My freshman's year was past and done,
I bore no undistinguish'd name,
Nor all unknown to college fame,
Through laurels in my boyhood won.
I bore no undistinguish'd name,
Nor all unknown to college fame,
Through laurels in my boyhood won.
352
With minds, the noblest of my day,
My undergraduate lot was cast,
In whose high friendship swiftly pass'd
The seed-time of my life away.
My undergraduate lot was cast,
In whose high friendship swiftly pass'd
The seed-time of my life away.
My mind, spell-bound beneath the strength
Of Byron's genius in its prime,
Was now, as wisdom came with time,
Awaking from that dream at length.
Of Byron's genius in its prime,
Was now, as wisdom came with time,
Awaking from that dream at length.
The growth of my expanding thought
Assumed a manlier, healthier tone;
Old idols had been overthrown,
New shrines of adoration sought.
Assumed a manlier, healthier tone;
Old idols had been overthrown,
New shrines of adoration sought.
And in my heart a voice was heard
Fresh from the mountain and the lake,
Which to its inmost spirit spake,
And all its noblest pulses stirr'd.
Fresh from the mountain and the lake,
Which to its inmost spirit spake,
And all its noblest pulses stirr'd.
Then 'twas that to his brother's home,
Who did our college sceptre sway,—
'Twas known that Rydal's bard, to pay
A brother's debt of love, was come.
Who did our college sceptre sway,—
'Twas known that Rydal's bard, to pay
A brother's debt of love, was come.
And they who then revered his name,
(As yet a small but zealous band)
To welcome him with heart and hand
Back to his Alma mater, came.
(As yet a small but zealous band)
To welcome him with heart and hand
Back to his Alma mater, came.
One evening—(one to life's decline
Since youth remember'd)—'twas my pride
To sit, a listener, at his side
Whom I had deem'd almost divine.
Since youth remember'd)—'twas my pride
To sit, a listener, at his side
Whom I had deem'd almost divine.
353
He then had turn'd his fiftieth year,—
Older in aspect than in age;
And less of poet than of sage
Methought did in his looks appear.
Older in aspect than in age;
And less of poet than of sage
Methought did in his looks appear.
His voice sonorous, clear and deep,
With somewhat of a pompous tone;
His locks, already silvery grown,
Did scantly round his temples creep.
With somewhat of a pompous tone;
His locks, already silvery grown,
Did scantly round his temples creep.
His face and form were thin and spare
As of ascetic anchorite,
Yet with us boys in converse light
He join'd, with free and genial air.
As of ascetic anchorite,
Yet with us boys in converse light
He join'd, with free and genial air.
And I remember that he told
How once upon the Righi's height
He stood, in clear, celestial light,
While thunder-clouds beneath him roll'd,
How once upon the Righi's height
He stood, in clear, celestial light,
While thunder-clouds beneath him roll'd,
And thunder-peals roar'd long and loud,
And lightnings, with their lurid glare,
Lit up the crags abrupt and bare
Which pierced the sable veil of cloud.
And lightnings, with their lurid glare,
Lit up the crags abrupt and bare
Which pierced the sable veil of cloud.
And then did he discuss again
A point, in verse discuss'd before—
Whether the nightingale doth pour
A stormy or a tender strain.
A point, in verse discuss'd before—
Whether the nightingale doth pour
A stormy or a tender strain.
Themes both, which might have wakened then
The poet soul,—yet nought he said
Which much beyond the thought betrayed
Of unimaginative men.
The poet soul,—yet nought he said
Which much beyond the thought betrayed
Of unimaginative men.
354
Yet did his nervous words express
Wisdom combined with vigorous sense,
Nor lack'd that natural eloquence
Which is the voice of earnestness.
Wisdom combined with vigorous sense,
Nor lack'd that natural eloquence
Which is the voice of earnestness.
Utter'd by lips of common men,
Not common had they seem'd to be,—
Only they gave no sign that he
Was lord of an immortal pen.
Not common had they seem'd to be,—
Only they gave no sign that he
Was lord of an immortal pen.
And when that wish'd-for hour had flown,
Almost my fancy might lament
That now her glittering veil was rent,
And all it had enshrouded, known.
Almost my fancy might lament
That now her glittering veil was rent,
And all it had enshrouded, known.
Beneath my roof again we met,—
My years had then attained their prime;
And he, though somewhat touch'd by time,
Was hale and energetic yet.
My years had then attained their prime;
And he, though somewhat touch'd by time,
Was hale and energetic yet.
And he had left his mountain home
To gladden and refresh his age,
(So said he) by a pilgrimage
To those eternal hills of Rome.
To gladden and refresh his age,
(So said he) by a pilgrimage
To those eternal hills of Rome.
His daughter, who her maiden name
Not yet had merged in that of wife,
The staff of his declining life,
The partner of his travel came.
Not yet had merged in that of wife,
The staff of his declining life,
The partner of his travel came.
With fervent, earnest words he spoke
Of public morals, of the laws
Which give the English labourer cause
To fret beneath the social yoke;
Of public morals, of the laws
Which give the English labourer cause
To fret beneath the social yoke;
355
Of principles, both good and pure,
Made false by legislative haste,
For female virtue, sore debased,
Attempting an empiric cure.
Made false by legislative haste,
For female virtue, sore debased,
Attempting an empiric cure.
And then, as with the sudden growth
Of indignation, from his lip
Some hasty words were heard to slip,
Which sounded very like an oath.
Of indignation, from his lip
Some hasty words were heard to slip,
Which sounded very like an oath.
Thence to his own peculiar sphere
He turn'd—the wide domain of song,
Pronouncing judgment clear and strong
By laws fastidiously severe.
He turn'd—the wide domain of song,
Pronouncing judgment clear and strong
By laws fastidiously severe.
No weak indulgence would he shew
To fancies marr'd by careless haste,—
Rank shoots of genius run to waste,
Whose healthier growths are sure and slow;
To fancies marr'd by careless haste,—
Rank shoots of genius run to waste,
Whose healthier growths are sure and slow;
But urged that with elaborate toil
All shapings of poetic thought
Must be to ripe perfection brought,
Or wither in the richest soil.
All shapings of poetic thought
Must be to ripe perfection brought,
Or wither in the richest soil.
In critic phrase I pleaded then
For noble thoughts and words sublime,
From verse of his in later time
Expunged with a remorseless pen;—
For noble thoughts and words sublime,
From verse of his in later time
Expunged with a remorseless pen;—
Marring, methought—as poets use,
Whose evening star of fancy wanes
While judgment domineers,—the strains
Which glorified his youthful muse.
Whose evening star of fancy wanes
While judgment domineers,—the strains
Which glorified his youthful muse.
356
Thereto, in grave deliberate tone,
But bland withal, he made reply,
And spake of art severe and high,
And duties which he deem'd his own:
But bland withal, he made reply,
And spake of art severe and high,
And duties which he deem'd his own:
Of gifts not rashly to be marr'd,
Of work not lightly to be done,
Of power o'er human hearts, to none
Vouchsafed but the laborious bard.
Of work not lightly to be done,
Of power o'er human hearts, to none
Vouchsafed but the laborious bard.
Of what was to his country due,
Of what he had received from Heaven,
The task inspired, the talents given,
The meed which he must needs pursue.
Of what he had received from Heaven,
The task inspired, the talents given,
The meed which he must needs pursue.
He spake like one who feels the weight
Of genius to his lot assign'd,—
The burden of a mighty mind,—
The debt incurred by being great;
Of genius to his lot assign'd,—
The burden of a mighty mind,—
The debt incurred by being great;
And while his voice sonorous roll'd,
We felt as though a prophet spake,
In words which drowsiest hearts might wake
And render feeblest spirits bold.
We felt as though a prophet spake,
In words which drowsiest hearts might wake
And render feeblest spirits bold.
Once more we met—when years had fled,—
Beside the banks of Windermere;
He then was nigh his eightieth year,
But vigorous still of voice and tread.
Beside the banks of Windermere;
He then was nigh his eightieth year,
But vigorous still of voice and tread.
Sorrow her perfect work had done
Less on his body than his mind;
On earth he now was left behind
When those who made it bright were gone.
Less on his body than his mind;
On earth he now was left behind
When those who made it bright were gone.
357
And (last and most lamented) she—
His dearest hope—his age's stay,—
His daughter too had past away
Ere death had set her father free;
His dearest hope—his age's stay,—
His daughter too had past away
Ere death had set her father free;
For months had he despondent lain,
Stun'd by that overwhelming stroke,
Then lately from his trance awoke
To master and subdue his pain.
Stun'd by that overwhelming stroke,
Then lately from his trance awoke
To master and subdue his pain.
Yet with a courteous, cordial air
The aged poet met me still,
And welcomed me, with free good will,
To his sweet mountain dwelling there.
The aged poet met me still,
And welcomed me, with free good will,
To his sweet mountain dwelling there.
His life was then the life of one
Who after battle's long turmoil,
(The victory won, secured the spoil,)
Reposes when his work is done.
Who after battle's long turmoil,
(The victory won, secured the spoil,)
Reposes when his work is done.
No longer vext by hopes or fears,
Or sense of duty unfulfill'd,
While fame, well won, began to gild
The sunset of his later years,
Or sense of duty unfulfill'd,
While fame, well won, began to gild
The sunset of his later years,
Serenely the old man survey'd,
As from a troubled ocean's shore,
The tempests which for him were o'er,
The tumult which the breakers made.
As from a troubled ocean's shore,
The tempests which for him were o'er,
The tumult which the breakers made.
In calm and philosophic mood
He spake of past and present days,
And now with censure, now with praise,
The living and the dead review'd:
He spake of past and present days,
And now with censure, now with praise,
The living and the dead review'd:
358
But chiefly he his thoughts address'd
To themes of high religious strain;
Like one who from the care and pain
Of earthly life would be at rest.
To themes of high religious strain;
Like one who from the care and pain
Of earthly life would be at rest.
Ere two years more o'er that grey head
Had flown, both care and pain were past,
And by his daughter's side at last
The poet slumber'd with the dead.
Had flown, both care and pain were past,
And by his daughter's side at last
The poet slumber'd with the dead.
THE SECOND MINSTREL.
This very month 'tis thirty years,
(Ah why will years so swiftly flee,—
I scarce believe them more than three,
So short the by-gone time appears,)—
(Ah why will years so swiftly flee,—
I scarce believe them more than three,
So short the by-gone time appears,)—
Since we toward Highgate bent our way,—
Three poets—loving friends and true
The skies had on their brightest blue,
The air was fresh with fragrant hay.
Three poets—loving friends and true
The skies had on their brightest blue,
The air was fresh with fragrant hay.
Scarce out of London's smoke and din
We heard the mower whet his scythe,
The summer birds were singing blithe,
Like creatures without care or sin.
We heard the mower whet his scythe,
The summer birds were singing blithe,
Like creatures without care or sin.
And we, almost as blithe as they,
(For life in us was fresh and strong,)
With talk and jest and snatch of song
Beguiled the progress of our way.
(For life in us was fresh and strong,)
With talk and jest and snatch of song
Beguiled the progress of our way.
359
One was a youth who clomb to fame
By paths than song more swift and sure,—
No soul less selfish or more pure
Hath graced the senatorial name.
By paths than song more swift and sure,—
No soul less selfish or more pure
Hath graced the senatorial name.
The second hath, since ripening age,
Been from the Muses haunts estranged,
Through which in youth his genius ranged—
Its patrimonial heritage.
Been from the Muses haunts estranged,
Through which in youth his genius ranged—
Its patrimonial heritage.
A teacher such as earth hath few,
Though, ill repaid and underprized,
His greatness all unrecognised,
His lifelong toil doth he pursue:—
Though, ill repaid and underprized,
His greatness all unrecognised,
His lifelong toil doth he pursue:—
A fetter'd eagle, link on link
He drags a soul-corroding chain,
Too constant-hearted to complain,
Too brave beneath his load to sink.
He drags a soul-corroding chain,
Too constant-hearted to complain,
Too brave beneath his load to sink.
Him, on that well-remember'd day,
We others followed to the shrine
Of wisdom and of song divine,
The homage of young hearts to pay,
We others followed to the shrine
Of wisdom and of song divine,
The homage of young hearts to pay,
And hear those wondrous lips unfold,
In tones of inspiration high,
Such truths as to prophetic eye
In trance ecstatic are unroll'd.
In tones of inspiration high,
Such truths as to prophetic eye
In trance ecstatic are unroll'd.
Blandly, our triple league to greet,
The sage of tongue heaven-kindled came,
Already of decrepit frame,
Ill balanced on unsteady feet.
The sage of tongue heaven-kindled came,
Already of decrepit frame,
Ill balanced on unsteady feet.
360
He, by his clerkly, grave attire,
A Christian pastor might have seem'd,
But in his eye seraphic gleam'd
Effulgence of celestial fire.
A Christian pastor might have seem'd,
But in his eye seraphic gleam'd
Effulgence of celestial fire.
We mark'd the broad expanse of brow,
The prematurely silver hair,
The streams of music rich and rare
Which through those parted lips did flow.
The prematurely silver hair,
The streams of music rich and rare
Which through those parted lips did flow.
Awed by that mighty presence, I
Was silent like a bashful child;
But he, with condescension mild,
And frank, ingenuous courtesy,
Was silent like a bashful child;
But he, with condescension mild,
And frank, ingenuous courtesy,
His sovereignty awhile resign'd,
And with a kind, familiar air,
Subdued, to light which we could bear,
The lustre of his inner mind.
And with a kind, familiar air,
Subdued, to light which we could bear,
The lustre of his inner mind.
The hand of Retzsch had newly then
On Goethe's art its own essay'd,
And “Faust” was on the table laid,
The pencil vying with the pen.
On Goethe's art its own essay'd,
And “Faust” was on the table laid,
The pencil vying with the pen.
But touch'd with all pervading light,
Which from that mystic mind did stream,
The painter's and the poet's dream
Were straight transfigured in our sight.
Which from that mystic mind did stream,
The painter's and the poet's dream
Were straight transfigured in our sight.
On every page, on every line,
Intense illumination play'd,—
A glory not its own, which made
What else seem'd devilish, half divine.
Intense illumination play'd,—
A glory not its own, which made
What else seem'd devilish, half divine.
361
And though 'twas mine, in later days,
The inspiration of the seer
In fuller, deeper flow to hear,
And bask in more unclouded rays
The inspiration of the seer
In fuller, deeper flow to hear,
And bask in more unclouded rays
Emitted from that glorious orb,—
Yet that one hour on Highgate hill
Doth, o'er the rest remember'd, still
My spirit's retrospect absorb.
Yet that one hour on Highgate hill
Doth, o'er the rest remember'd, still
My spirit's retrospect absorb.
And still to me, by Goethe's pen
Spell-bound, or Retzsch's living page,
Comes back the memory of the sage
Who steep'd them both in sunlight then.
Spell-bound, or Retzsch's living page,
Comes back the memory of the sage
Who steep'd them both in sunlight then.
My youthful years had past away,—
Again I stood beside his door,—
The poet-soul was there no more,—
Its empty frame unburied lay.
Again I stood beside his door,—
The poet-soul was there no more,—
Its empty frame unburied lay.
In me it woke mysterious awe,
To think that he, that lord of song,
Had yielded, like the vulgar throng,
To death's inexorable law:
To think that he, that lord of song,
Had yielded, like the vulgar throng,
To death's inexorable law:
That light, not oft in ages sent,—
Which yet had in the darkness shone
Uncomprehended,—now was gone
For ever from our firmament.
Which yet had in the darkness shone
Uncomprehended,—now was gone
For ever from our firmament.
But ere that awe had lost its spell,
'Twas merged in sorrow more profound;—
Beneath a distant churchyard mound
Was laid a child beloved too well.
'Twas merged in sorrow more profound;—
Beneath a distant churchyard mound
Was laid a child beloved too well.
362
Almost they parted side by side,—
The babe whose days were scarce a span,
And he, the hoary-headed man,—
The sinless and the sanctified;—
The babe whose days were scarce a span,
And he, the hoary-headed man,—
The sinless and the sanctified;—
The sage profound in thought and lore,
The child whose thought had scarce begun,—
Both battles fought, both races run,
Both landed on the eternal shore.
The child whose thought had scarce begun,—
Both battles fought, both races run,
Both landed on the eternal shore.
Together at the Judgment throne
Perchance they stood; and who shall say
What difference then between them lay,—
Which spirit had the riper grown:
Perchance they stood; and who shall say
What difference then between them lay,—
Which spirit had the riper grown:
What, if at one triumphant bound
The child in death may overleap
The toilsome progress, long and steep,
By which the man hath wisdom found?
The child in death may overleap
The toilsome progress, long and steep,
By which the man hath wisdom found?
What, if the saint's long war with sin,—
If all the study of the sage,
From earliest youth to latest age,
Renew not so the world within,—
If all the study of the sage,
From earliest youth to latest age,
Renew not so the world within,—
Nor so the spirit's range expand,
Nor so illume its inward eye
To view, in vision clear and nigh,
The wonders of that unknown land,—
Nor so illume its inward eye
To view, in vision clear and nigh,
The wonders of that unknown land,—
As his whom pure baptismal grace,
Still all unsoil'd as when 'twas given,
Hath made unconscious heir of Heaven
And fit to see his Father's face?
Still all unsoil'd as when 'twas given,
Hath made unconscious heir of Heaven
And fit to see his Father's face?
363
THE THIRD MINSTREL.
Not poor, nor profitless, I deem
The homage paid, in deed and truth,
By poet, in his morn of youth,
To elders o'er the craft supreme.
The homage paid, in deed and truth,
By poet, in his morn of youth,
To elders o'er the craft supreme.
But that, methinks, becomes him more,
Which, in his own declining day,
He doth to those, his juniors, pay
Who, coming after, rank before;
Which, in his own declining day,
He doth to those, his juniors, pay
Who, coming after, rank before;
Who still must wax as he must wane,
Whose light shall burn and shine afar,
When his, a pale and glimmering star,
Hath faded into night again.
Whose light shall burn and shine afar,
When his, a pale and glimmering star,
Hath faded into night again.
A matron is my neighbour now,
In childhood introduced to fame,
By one who bears a deathless name
And wreathes the laurel round his brow.
In childhood introduced to fame,
By one who bears a deathless name
And wreathes the laurel round his brow.
And he beneath her roof sometimes
Still tarries, as a kinsman ought;
Refreshes there his weary thought,
Or meditates harmonious rhymes.
Still tarries, as a kinsman ought;
Refreshes there his weary thought,
Or meditates harmonious rhymes.
And thither, one fine winter day
On premonition duly sent,
As brother of the guild, I went
My homage to our chief to pay.
On premonition duly sent,
As brother of the guild, I went
My homage to our chief to pay.
364
The snow lay thick on field and tree,
The pools with ice were crusted o'er;
Such snow as fell in days of yore,
Such ice as now we seldom see.
The pools with ice were crusted o'er;
Such snow as fell in days of yore,
Such ice as now we seldom see.
But veil'd in an ambrosial cloud,
Secure from weather, as from fate,
The poet in Olympian state
Did his immortal presence shroud.
Secure from weather, as from fate,
The poet in Olympian state
Did his immortal presence shroud.
Ah! Lillian! was't an act of grace
In thee, retreating through the door,
Two bards, who ne'er had met before,
To leave alone and face to face?
In thee, retreating through the door,
Two bards, who ne'er had met before,
To leave alone and face to face?
Perchance thou didst a hope sublime
Indulge—yea in thy soul believe—
That each the other's skull would cleave,
And so the world be spared some rhyme.
Indulge—yea in thy soul believe—
That each the other's skull would cleave,
And so the world be spared some rhyme.
Thou deem'st the true Pierian swan
Is but a bantam spur-bedight,
More prompt with kindred fowl to fight
Than unpoetic man with man.
Is but a bantam spur-bedight,
More prompt with kindred fowl to fight
Than unpoetic man with man.
Not so,—thy guest, whose face I sought,
Assumed a frank, familiar air,
And with a volume of Moliére
Our brains to mild encounter brought.
Assumed a frank, familiar air,
And with a volume of Moliére
Our brains to mild encounter brought.
We spake of England and of France,
And how the individual man
In England doth to ampler span,
In well-developed growth, advance:
And how the individual man
In England doth to ampler span,
In well-developed growth, advance:
365
And how to Shakespere's genius thus
Did larger fields of thought abound
Than could in all the world be found
Elsewhere than only among us.
Did larger fields of thought abound
Than could in all the world be found
Elsewhere than only among us.
That point decided once with care,
To others as our talk diverged,
Together rising, we emerged
Into the fresh and frosty air:
To others as our talk diverged,
Together rising, we emerged
Into the fresh and frosty air:
And he, a skater old and proved,
Did o'er the ice, on trenchant heel,
In labyrinthine mazes wheel,
Like one who vigorous motion loved.
Did o'er the ice, on trenchant heel,
In labyrinthine mazes wheel,
Like one who vigorous motion loved.
Then, homeward as we shaped our way,
Again we spake of books and men,—
The ancient and the modern pen,—
The Grecian, Roman, English lay;
Again we spake of books and men,—
The ancient and the modern pen,—
The Grecian, Roman, English lay;
Of Him—the Teacher true and bold,
Till death, assail'd with bigot hate;
Now throned among the good and great
Of all earth's ages, new and old;
Till death, assail'd with bigot hate;
Now throned among the good and great
Of all earth's ages, new and old;
And Him—as true and bold—who still
Through the same storm of earthly life,
Malign'd, reviled, maintains his strife
With error and with social ill.
Through the same storm of earthly life,
Malign'd, reviled, maintains his strife
With error and with social ill.
Racy and fresh was all he said,
Not cramp'd by bonds of sect or school;
He seem'd not one who thought by rule,
Nor one of any truth afraid;
Not cramp'd by bonds of sect or school;
He seem'd not one who thought by rule,
Nor one of any truth afraid;
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But, bold of heart and clear of head,
The course of human thought review'd,
And dauntlessly his path pursued,
To whatsoever goal it led.
The course of human thought review'd,
And dauntlessly his path pursued,
To whatsoever goal it led.
A man indeed of manly thought,
Inhabiting a manly frame,—
A man resolved, through praise or blame,
To speak and do the thing he ought.
Inhabiting a manly frame,—
A man resolved, through praise or blame,
To speak and do the thing he ought.
Sometimes in phrase direct and plain,
At which fastidious ears might start,
He clothed the promptings of his heart,
The strong conceptions of his brain;
At which fastidious ears might start,
He clothed the promptings of his heart,
The strong conceptions of his brain;
But in and o'er whate'er he said
Ingenuous truth and candour shone;
In every word and look and tone
Was nobleness of soul display'd.
Ingenuous truth and candour shone;
In every word and look and tone
Was nobleness of soul display'd.
And if perchance for form and creed
Pugnacious less than some may be,
Yet Christian eyes at once might see
In him, a Christian bard indeed,
Pugnacious less than some may be,
Yet Christian eyes at once might see
In him, a Christian bard indeed,
And well may English hearts rejoice
That queenly hands around the brow
Of one so graced the laurel bough
Have wreathed, as by a nation's choice.
That queenly hands around the brow
Of one so graced the laurel bough
Have wreathed, as by a nation's choice.
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EPILOGUE.
A fiddle is a paltry thing,—
A thing of catgut and of wood;
It does one's temper little good
To hear a bungler scrape the string:
A thing of catgut and of wood;
It does one's temper little good
To hear a bungler scrape the string:
But let a Paganini's hand
Thereon its wondrous power essay,
And lo! beneath that magic sway
What worlds of melody expand!
Thereon its wondrous power essay,
And lo! beneath that magic sway
What worlds of melody expand!
A master-touch but lately swept
Some chords of elegiac tone,
And woke to music all its own
The spirit which within them slept.
Some chords of elegiac tone,
And woke to music all its own
The spirit which within them slept.
A feeble medium 'twas he chose,—
An instrument of compass small;
And yet from hut to palace hall
The wondrous descant rang and rose.
An instrument of compass small;
And yet from hut to palace hall
The wondrous descant rang and rose.
In plaintive murmurs, low and grave,
It moan'd and murmur'd like the sea;—
A solemn, deep monotony,
Renew'd, repeated, wave on wave.
It moan'd and murmur'd like the sea;—
A solemn, deep monotony,
Renew'd, repeated, wave on wave.
Through England's utmost breadth and length
It pass'd—that melancholy strain,
As of a noble soul in pain,
Its sadness temper'd by its strength.
It pass'd—that melancholy strain,
As of a noble soul in pain,
Its sadness temper'd by its strength.
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The peasant heard it at his plough,—
It smote the student in his cell,—
Like balm on mourning hearts it fell,—
The blithe were touched, they knew not how.
It smote the student in his cell,—
Like balm on mourning hearts it fell,—
The blithe were touched, they knew not how.
What marvel if in some it found
An echo which would fain prolong
The rapture of so sweet a song,—
The bliss of such unearthly sound?
An echo which would fain prolong
The rapture of so sweet a song,—
The bliss of such unearthly sound?
But strings which, touch'd by minstrel skill,
Enchant the hearer's soul and sense,
Twang'd by a clown's impertinence
Are unmelodious catgut still.
Enchant the hearer's soul and sense,
Twang'd by a clown's impertinence
Are unmelodious catgut still.
And yet perchance 'tis well to learn
The limits of our proper skill,—
The difference between power and will
By sad experience to discern.
The limits of our proper skill,—
The difference between power and will
By sad experience to discern.
And those methinks are less to blame
Who mar a measure weak and mean
Than those who put what might have been
A noble harmony to shame.
Who mar a measure weak and mean
Than those who put what might have been
A noble harmony to shame.
I knew not, when my song I plann'd,
That this inverted stave required
The music of a soul inspired,
The magic of a master's hand;
That this inverted stave required
The music of a soul inspired,
The magic of a master's hand;
Nor dream'd that so minute a change—
The transposition of a rhyme—
Could thus bewilder tune and time,
Thus make expression harsh and strange.
The transposition of a rhyme—
Could thus bewilder tune and time,
Thus make expression harsh and strange.
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Howe'er it be—my story told,
This ill-strung fiddle I resign
To fingers more expert than mine,—
To souls of more melodious mould.
This ill-strung fiddle I resign
To fingers more expert than mine,—
To souls of more melodious mould.
And if my song discordant seem,
Even let it perish, lost and drown'd
In the full stream of golden sound
Diffused by those harmonious Three.
Even let it perish, lost and drown'd
In the full stream of golden sound
Diffused by those harmonious Three.
| Poems | |