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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
404
XXIV. TO THE MOST FAIR.
Fair, noble, young! Of thee I thought to sing,(If so Love willed, and the ever-virgin Muse
Who cannot grace accord unless Love choose,
Were pleased from Love's first bath, Castalia's Spring,
One flower or sparkling drop on me to fling)
For ofttimes thus some clan barbaric strews
Their earth and wood, the little island's dues,
Before his feet whom conquest made its king:
So dreamed I, when, a mourner sad and stern,
The Muses' Mother fixed on me her eyes—
Memory—nor slow their meaning to discern
Like a child stung I dropped the forfeit prize:
Some holier hand from out the immortal river
The destined reed must draw, and hymn thy praise for ever!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |