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9
[O thou, to come, though yet perchance unborn]
O thou
, to come, though yet perchance unborn,
My country's Poet, prince of bards, sublime
'Mongst those who in the Future's gleaming morn
Will make great music, in thy manhood's prime
And day of fame remember me, and climb
My Hill of Rest, and take thy musing way
Unto the place of tombs, and with sweet rhyme
Stand thou beside my headstone lone and gray,
And strike thy sounding harp and sing no little lay!
My country's Poet, prince of bards, sublime
'Mongst those who in the Future's gleaming morn
Will make great music, in thy manhood's prime
And day of fame remember me, and climb
My Hill of Rest, and take thy musing way
Unto the place of tombs, and with sweet rhyme
Stand thou beside my headstone lone and gray,
And strike thy sounding harp and sing no little lay!
For I am of the race of those longsyne
The makers of heroic minstrelsy,
Though oft in youth, caught in his silken twine,
I sang of Love, to lay and melody
Made by the ancient bards of high degree,
Or rustic singers of the lowly cot,
And many a thorny path I've cleared for thee,
And sowed some seeds in many a hidden spot
That bloom a little now where flowers of song were not!
The makers of heroic minstrelsy,
Though oft in youth, caught in his silken twine,
I sang of Love, to lay and melody
Made by the ancient bards of high degree,
Or rustic singers of the lowly cot,
And many a thorny path I've cleared for thee,
And sowed some seeds in many a hidden spot
That bloom a little now where flowers of song were not!
10
Though many a field I've searched of foreign lore
And found great themes for song, yet ne'er would I
Seek Greece, or Araby, or Persia's shore
For heroes and the deeds of days gone by;
To my own native land my heart would fly,
Howe'er my fancy wandered, and I gave
My thoughts to her and to the heroes high
She nursed in ages gone, and strove to save
Some memory of their deeds from dark oblivious wave!
And found great themes for song, yet ne'er would I
Seek Greece, or Araby, or Persia's shore
For heroes and the deeds of days gone by;
To my own native land my heart would fly,
Howe'er my fancy wandered, and I gave
My thoughts to her and to the heroes high
She nursed in ages gone, and strove to save
Some memory of their deeds from dark oblivious wave!
And not for gold I sang, nor foolish greed
With easy steps to reach Fame's hallowed ground;
For love of Song I piped my sylvan reed,
And sometimes too essayed a bolder sound
To wake men's souls to nobleness, and found
Each effort to my heart new guerdons bring,
And though few laurels wreathe my temples round,
My task is wrought in stirring even the string
Of the bright harp that yet beneath thy touch shall ring!
With easy steps to reach Fame's hallowed ground;
For love of Song I piped my sylvan reed,
And sometimes too essayed a bolder sound
To wake men's souls to nobleness, and found
Each effort to my heart new guerdons bring,
And though few laurels wreathe my temples round,
My task is wrought in stirring even the string
Of the bright harp that yet beneath thy touch shall ring!
11
In this some bloom of Fancy may'st thou find:—
Heroes and heroines from the dusky haze
Of Eld I've called, and limned them, heart and mind,
As best I could, in all their thoughts and ways
Of love and war; and if it win thy praise
And thy approving smile, I ask no more
Than this, to add one green leaf to the bays
In learning and in song my country wore
When all the world was dark, save her, in days of yore!
Heroes and heroines from the dusky haze
Of Eld I've called, and limned them, heart and mind,
As best I could, in all their thoughts and ways
Of love and war; and if it win thy praise
And thy approving smile, I ask no more
Than this, to add one green leaf to the bays
In learning and in song my country wore
When all the world was dark, save her, in days of yore!
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