University of Virginia Library

PRELUDE.

Not mine to soar among those birds of Song
That wheel in grandeur 'bove Parnassus' Hill;
Or light by Helicon, their wearied wings
Refreshing with invigorating draughts;
Or, from the summit, with repeated notes
Wake the lethargic multitudes to life,
And make them turn their wondering eyes upon
Those dazzling hill tops, brightened by a song;
Whose soft, persuasive melodies compel
Our pliant natures to the mould they wish,
And, like Creators, shape the yielding clay
To any form their loveliness puts on.
No, but upon some low thatched cottage roof,
Or tree that neighbours to a flowing stream;
Or by the wayside perched, in thicket hid,
Where wind the lowing kine their moody way,
With melancholy visage passing slow,
At peep of day, along their dewy road,
There will I pour my unpretending song:
Which, 'chance, may please the bustling milk maid's ear,
Or idle clown's resting with vacant thoughts—
More easily pleased—hard by my lowly seat.
Perchance, like young Endymion, to be pierced
By brutal archers bent on deeds of woe,
And all the current of my tender lays
Choked in my throat by my own gushing blood,
Ere uttered half, and unoffending quite.
But I am formed of stouter mould than he,
No tropic bird, and fitter to abide
Harsh usage, or the bitter, nipping blast
Of cold neglect, the bane of spirits proud:
Like the wood robin, o'er the drifted snows
I'll sing unterrified; and if of life
Heaven deems me worthy, Heaven will sure provide
Shelter and food, though on me all men frown.
But if my little lays have power to please—
To call a passing smile on sorrow's face,
Or, momentary, lull the rankling wounds
Which bleed in every bosom—or add new joy
To joy already full—or wake a note
Responsive to my own, though the song drowns
My feebler melody—I'll happy live
And happier die, though with me dies each tone
That gave me note on earth. Though Fame comes not
To glad my heart—not for mere Fame itself,
But to extend my usefulness afar;
For who will listen to the fameless Bard,
Or deem his lessons worth a passing thought,
Whose head is bare and wreathless? Yet go forth,
Go forth my harmless Book! like Noah's dove,
Mayhap, thou may'st bring back an olive branch
To deck thy master's unambitious head.