 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
406
OUR LAUREATE
[_]
(Contributed to the Holmes number of the Critic, issued on the twenty-ninth of August, 1884—the seventy-fifth anniversary of the birth of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes.)
One day from groves of pine and palm,
The poets of the sky and cover
Had come to greet with song and psalm
The whip-poor-will—their woodland lover.
All sang their best, but one clear note
That fairly voiced their admiration
Was his—who only sang by rote—
The mock-bird's modest imitation.
The poets of the sky and cover
Had come to greet with song and psalm
The whip-poor-will—their woodland lover.
All sang their best, but one clear note
That fairly voiced their admiration
Was his—who only sang by rote—
The mock-bird's modest imitation.
So we, who 'd praise the bard who most
Is poet of each high occasion,
Who 'd laud our laureate, and toast
The blithe Toast-Master of the Nation,—
To celebrate his fête to-day,
In vain each bard his praise rehearses:
The best that we can sing or say
Is but an echo of his verses.
Is poet of each high occasion,
Who 'd laud our laureate, and toast
The blithe Toast-Master of the Nation,—
To celebrate his fête to-day,
In vain each bard his praise rehearses:
The best that we can sing or say
Is but an echo of his verses.
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |