 | Shifting Scenes and Other Poems |  |
VII.
Laughter and tears alike were at his nod,
Humour and wit ran sparkling rich as wine;
And at the rare carousal, half divine,
He sat amid his subjects, like a god
Waited upon by satyrs.
Humour and wit ran sparkling rich as wine;
And at the rare carousal, half divine,
He sat amid his subjects, like a god
Waited upon by satyrs.
Like a bee,
He sipped sweet honey from the bitterest flower;
And at his touch the starkest wintry tree
Rained down its apples in a golden shower.
Young men and maidens whisp'ring, still rehearse
Their joys and sorrows in his manly verse;
His witching words still well o'er budding lips,
Mantling soft cheeks in ruddy dimple-dips
And innocent laughters of the ancient prime;
And still, at hearthstone, and at rural fair,
Old men and matrons, heeding not that Time
Hath furrow'd cheek and brow, and blanch'd the glossy hair,
Chuckle and murmur o'er the magic rhyme,
Brimful of life and light, and all youth's dainty fare;
Nature, full-lipped, was singing in his heart;
And, though the wounded poet felt the smart
Of poverty, yet, like a bird in spring,
Soul-full of music, he did nought but sing,
And in the choral whole, he grandly bore his part.
He sipped sweet honey from the bitterest flower;
And at his touch the starkest wintry tree
Rained down its apples in a golden shower.
Young men and maidens whisp'ring, still rehearse
Their joys and sorrows in his manly verse;
His witching words still well o'er budding lips,
Mantling soft cheeks in ruddy dimple-dips
And innocent laughters of the ancient prime;
And still, at hearthstone, and at rural fair,
Old men and matrons, heeding not that Time
126
Chuckle and murmur o'er the magic rhyme,
Brimful of life and light, and all youth's dainty fare;
Nature, full-lipped, was singing in his heart;
And, though the wounded poet felt the smart
Of poverty, yet, like a bird in spring,
Soul-full of music, he did nought but sing,
And in the choral whole, he grandly bore his part.
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