Old Year Leaves Being Old Verses Revised: By H. T. Mackenzie Bell ... New Edition |
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THE SOURCE OF SONG. |
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THE SOURCE OF SONG.
What maketh the true poet sing?
Is it sense of deep injuries thrown
On the weak by the strong, which sting
His heart, till to song he is prone?
Is it sense of deep injuries thrown
On the weak by the strong, which sting
His heart, till to song he is prone?
Is it sight of some beautiful lake
All aflame with the dying sun's rays,—
O'er whose breast the acacias shake
Soft tresses of feathery sprays?
All aflame with the dying sun's rays,—
O'er whose breast the acacias shake
Soft tresses of feathery sprays?
Is it thought of some beautiful form
That fays well might deign to assume;
Displaying with ardour full warm,
How noble is youth's early bloom?
That fays well might deign to assume;
Displaying with ardour full warm,
How noble is youth's early bloom?
Is it thought of his dear mother-land,—
The deep longing that she be supreme:
Aspiration as loyal as grand,
Which to sons should be more than a dream?
The deep longing that she be supreme:
Aspiration as loyal as grand,
Which to sons should be more than a dream?
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Is it pleasure in physical health—
The supreme unacquirable dower,
Far greater in blessing than wealth,
And almost as mighty in power?
The supreme unacquirable dower,
Far greater in blessing than wealth,
And almost as mighty in power?
Is it simple desire to excel?
Or ambition that's highest and best,
Which longs among mankind to dwell,
To show by true life what is blest?
Or ambition that's highest and best,
Which longs among mankind to dwell,
To show by true life what is blest?
With such things the poet must strive,
And sometimes they impel him to sing,
Till in fortunate hour they may drive
Him for aid to re-touch his lute's string.
And sometimes they impel him to sing,
Till in fortunate hour they may drive
Him for aid to re-touch his lute's string.
But the primary cause which impels,—
More resistless than aught of these things,—
Is this: that within him there dwells
A soul which but lives when he sings.
More resistless than aught of these things,—
Is this: that within him there dwells
A soul which but lives when he sings.
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