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 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE OLD TENOR'S LAST SONG.
Before the village inn I checked my steed,
To ask my proper way,
When came along a wandering son of need,
And, as excuse to beg, began to play.
To ask my proper way,
When came along a wandering son of need,
And, as excuse to beg, began to play.
228
He looked a most disreputable tramp,
Unshaven and unshorn,
His forehead with the dew of travel damp,
His hat a fragment, and his clothing torn.
Unshaven and unshorn,
His forehead with the dew of travel damp,
His hat a fragment, and his clothing torn.
And yet a something in his wrinkled face
My interest awoke;
About his way a spent and lingering grace
Of better days and higher fortunes spoke.
My interest awoke;
About his way a spent and lingering grace
Of better days and higher fortunes spoke.
He had a battered fiddle, cracked and vile,
And o'er it drew a bow
That gave a sound at first much like a file,
Then softened to an air of wailing woe.
And o'er it drew a bow
That gave a sound at first much like a file,
Then softened to an air of wailing woe.
I sat there motionless as carven stone,
I could not move away;
It seemed from that wild, weird, despairing tone,
A lost soul prisoned in the fiddle lay.
I could not move away;
It seemed from that wild, weird, despairing tone,
A lost soul prisoned in the fiddle lay.
At length he stopped, and, bending body low,
Held open palm to me,
But spoke no begging word meanwhile, as though
I was the only one to pay his fee.
Held open palm to me,
But spoke no begging word meanwhile, as though
I was the only one to pay his fee.
I gave him then what silver coins I had—
They were a due not dole;
For though the wretch was poor, and might be bad,
I gave the tribute to that prisoned soul.
They were a due not dole;
For though the wretch was poor, and might be bad,
I gave the tribute to that prisoned soul.
Then with a warmth born of Italian sun,
A tale he briefly told,
How on the lyric stage he laurels won,
In days when he was neither poor nor old.
A tale he briefly told,
How on the lyric stage he laurels won,
In days when he was neither poor nor old.
229
Keenly he fixed his deep black eyes on me,
And gathered by my way,
I thought his story false; then suddenly
He sang aloud a soft Italian lay.
And gathered by my way,
I thought his story false; then suddenly
He sang aloud a soft Italian lay.
At first, his voice was like his fiddle, cracked,
And trembled in his throat;
But steadily the music he attacked,
And purer grew each true and silvery note.
And trembled in his throat;
But steadily the music he attacked,
And purer grew each true and silvery note.
A flood of melody arose in air,
Filling the space around;
And from their houses people gathered there,
And drank with willing ear the welcome sound.
Filling the space around;
And from their houses people gathered there,
And drank with willing ear the welcome sound.
The smith his hammer dropped, and at the door
Of the stithy stood to hear;
The loungers on the porch their talk gave o'er;
Voice, breath and motion all gave place to ear.
Of the stithy stood to hear;
The loungers on the porch their talk gave o'er;
Voice, breath and motion all gave place to ear.
The last note died away; the spell was broke;
Loud rang applause around;
And in apology some words I spoke,
When my lost courage and my voice I found.
Loud rang applause around;
And in apology some words I spoke,
When my lost courage and my voice I found.
A pallor on the minstrel's face o'erspread
I sprang at once to ground;
And pillowing on my breast his drooping head,
Made speech of low-toned praise and soothing sound.
I sprang at once to ground;
And pillowing on my breast his drooping head,
Made speech of low-toned praise and soothing sound.
I said his voice was sweeter than a bird's;
When he, with a smile of pride,
And—uttering in a gasping way the words,
“The swan sings in his dying, Signor”—died.
When he, with a smile of pride,
And—uttering in a gasping way the words,
“The swan sings in his dying, Signor”—died.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |