 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
224
SPACE—TIME.
Amidst the crowd a minstrel sang,
And touched a string of finest sound;
Unheard, for clamour rudely rang,
And envious discord music drowned.
A spot, some distance off I chose—
And sweetness crept along the air!
Above the din the music rose—
I heard the minstrel there!
And touched a string of finest sound;
Unheard, for clamour rudely rang,
And envious discord music drowned.
A spot, some distance off I chose—
And sweetness crept along the air!
Above the din the music rose—
I heard the minstrel there!
Too often this the poet's lot:
He sings to present time in vain,
With crowds around him, hearkening not,
All careless mirth or loud disdain.
But when a distant day has blushed
Above the rude tumultuous throng,
The clamour of an age is hushed—
Then wakes the sleeping song!
He sings to present time in vain,
With crowds around him, hearkening not,
All careless mirth or loud disdain.
But when a distant day has blushed
Above the rude tumultuous throng,
The clamour of an age is hushed—
Then wakes the sleeping song!
1843.
| The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard | |