University of Virginia Library

Before the loud acclaim that rose
To greet her as she came,
She bent with lowly grace that seemed
Such tribute to disclaim;
With arms meek-folded on her breast
And drooping head, she stood;
Then raised a glance that seemed to plead
For youth and womanhood;
A soft, beseeching smile, a look,
As if all silently
The kindness to her heart she took,
And put the homage by.

She stood dejected then, methought,
A Captive, though a Queen,
Before the throng—when sudden passed
A change across her mien;
Unto her full, dilating eye,
Unto her slender hand,
There came a light of sovereignty,
A gesture of command:
And to her lip, an eager flow
Of song, that seemed to bear
Her soul away on rushing wings
Unto its native air;
Her eye was fixed, her cheek flushed bright
With power; she seemed to call
On spirits duteous to her voice
At every rise and fall;
There was no triumph on her brow,
No tumult in her breast,
Her soaring soul had won its home
And smiled there as at rest;
She felt no more those countless eyes
Upon her; she had gained
A region where they troubled not,
The joy she had attained;
Now, now, she spoke her native speech,
An utterance fraught with spells,
The echoes of the heart to reach
Within their slumber-cells:
And many a quick unbidden sigh,
And starting tear, revealed
How surely at her touch the springs
Of feeling were unsealed;
The Present seemed unto the Past
For one sweet moment bound,
With all its broken ties made fast,
And all its lost ones found;
They who were always loved, seemed now
Yet more than ever dear;
Yet closer to the heart they came,
That always were so near:
And trembling back unto the lips
As if they ne'er had changed,
Old names returned that had been thence
Long severed, long estranged;
For in the strain, like those that fall
On wanderers as they roam,
The exiled spirit found once more
Its country and its home!

She ceased, yet on her parted lips
A happy smile abode,
As if the sweetness of her song
Yet lingered whence it flowed;
But for a while—her bosom heaved,
She was the same no more,
The light and spirit fled; she stood
As she had stood before;
Unheard, unheeded to her ear
The shouts of rapture came,
A voice had once more power to thrill,
That only spoke her name;
Unseen, unheeded, at her feet
Fell many a bright bouquet,
A single flower, in silence given,
Was once more sweet than they;
For link by link, her own wild strain
Had drawn her spirit back,
By windings of a silver chain
Upon a long-lost track.
And with her song her heart returned,
To days for ever gone,
Ere Woman's gift of Fame was her's
The Many for the One!

E'en thus, Oh Earth! before thee still
Thy Poet-Singers stand,
And bear the soul upon their songs
Unto its native land;
And even thus, with loud acclaim
The praise of skill, of art,
Is dealt to those who only speak
The language of the heart!
While they who love and listen best
Can little guess or know,
The wounds that from the Singer's breast
Have let such sweetness flow;
They guess not whence it gushing, starts
The clear and piercing tone
That wins its way to other hearts,
Through anguish of its own!
They know not Mastery must spring
From conflict and from strife;
These are not only Songs they sing,
They are the Singer's Life!