Lyrics of the heart With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. With forty-one engravings on steel |
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THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT.
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 | Lyrics of the heart |  |
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THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT.
ON HEARING IT ASSERTED THAT THE AGE OF POETRY, LIKE THAT OF CHIVALRY, WAS GONE.
Blessings be with them, and eternal praise,
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares,
The Poets;—who on earth have made us heirs
Of Truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!
WORDSWORTH.
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares,
The Poets;—who on earth have made us heirs
Of Truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!
WORDSWORTH.
It is not true, it cannot be,
That the love of Song is o'er;
Though the mightier masters of the Lyre
May wake their harps no more:
Though cold are now their tuneful lips,
To us shall still belong
A heritage of priceless gifts,
Bequeathed in deathless Song!
That the love of Song is o'er;
Though the mightier masters of the Lyre
May wake their harps no more:
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To us shall still belong
A heritage of priceless gifts,
Bequeathed in deathless Song!
Did love of country die with them;
Pride in our Island birth;
Or Honour to the dust go down,
When they returned to earth?
Did the heart's best affections cease,
When they resigned their breath?
Were Love, Hope, Loyalty and Faith,
Extinguished by their death?
Pride in our Island birth;
Or Honour to the dust go down,
When they returned to earth?
Did the heart's best affections cease,
When they resigned their breath?
Were Love, Hope, Loyalty and Faith,
Extinguished by their death?
No; in immortal verse embalmed,
Preserved from blight and chill,
Each loftier impulse of our being
Survives to bless us still:
Love, that from earth can never fade,
Each inspiration high,
That teaches us the way to live,
And tells us how to die!
Preserved from blight and chill,
Each loftier impulse of our being
Survives to bless us still:
Love, that from earth can never fade,
Each inspiration high,
That teaches us the way to live,
And tells us how to die!
Come, Mariners of England, forth,
Ye of the dauntless soul,
Who bear our conquering flag aloft,
From Pole to farthest Pole!
Ho! Soldiers of a hundred fights,—
A household word each name,—
Come forth, and battle for the Muse
That imps so oft your fame!
Ye of the dauntless soul,
Who bear our conquering flag aloft,
From Pole to farthest Pole!
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A household word each name,—
Come forth, and battle for the Muse
That imps so oft your fame!
Spirits of that devoted Band,
On earth beheld no more,
Old England's Chivalry that led
On sea and land of yore;
Answer from out your storied tombs
And shield the Muse from wrong;
Are not departed heroes' deeds
Recorded best in Song?
On earth beheld no more,
Old England's Chivalry that led
On sea and land of yore;
Answer from out your storied tombs
And shield the Muse from wrong;
Are not departed heroes' deeds
Recorded best in Song?
Saints militant! who fought so oft
'Gainst man's most stubborn foe;
And won ye crowns, more radiant far
Than earth could e'er bestow;
In your Great Captain's steps who trod,
No hope forlorn your fight,
And suffered bondage, stripes and death,
To testify His might;
'Gainst man's most stubborn foe;
And won ye crowns, more radiant far
Than earth could e'er bestow;
In your Great Captain's steps who trod,
No hope forlorn your fight,
And suffered bondage, stripes and death,
To testify His might;
Ye noble band of Martyrs, who,
In God's “whole armour” mailed,—
The shining panoply of Faith,—
O'er Sin and Death prevailed;
Hath not the Muse, with pious care,
Your glorious triumphs sung,
'Till your heroic deeds have grown
The theme of every tongue!
In God's “whole armour” mailed,—
The shining panoply of Faith,—
O'er Sin and Death prevailed;
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Your glorious triumphs sung,
'Till your heroic deeds have grown
The theme of every tongue!
Champions of Freedom! who have shunned
The ignis fatuus ray,
That mocks her sacred light, and leads
Even noblest hearts astray;
Ye, who her beacon fires have fed,
Her “meteor flag” unfurled,—
And stayed the haughty despot's stride
Across a vassal world;—
The ignis fatuus ray,
That mocks her sacred light, and leads
Even noblest hearts astray;
Ye, who her beacon fires have fed,
Her “meteor flag” unfurled,—
And stayed the haughty despot's stride
Across a vassal world;—
Who joy the trampled heart to raise,
Unloose the captive's chain,
And Liberty's heaven-chartered rights
To strengthen and maintain:
Prompt in the council as the field,
The weak to ward from wrong;
Was not your noblest daring learned
From the trumpet-voice of Song?
Unloose the captive's chain,
And Liberty's heaven-chartered rights
To strengthen and maintain:
Prompt in the council as the field,
The weak to ward from wrong;
Was not your noblest daring learned
From the trumpet-voice of Song?
Heralds of Peace! still toiling on
To give the heathen light;
Ye who would compass sea and land
To gain one proselyte;—
Have ye not raised the feeble up,
And bowed to earth the strong,
As, Moses-like, ye struck the heart
With the charmed wand of Song!
To give the heathen light;
Ye who would compass sea and land
To gain one proselyte;—
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And bowed to earth the strong,
As, Moses-like, ye struck the heart
With the charmed wand of Song!
Mourners! how deep soe'er the griefs
That weigh your spirit down;
A hearth made desolate and dark
By Fortune's angriest frown;
The death of some long cherished friend,
When friends, alas! are few;
The wild estrangement of a heart
You once believed so true:
That weigh your spirit down;
A hearth made desolate and dark
By Fortune's angriest frown;
The death of some long cherished friend,
When friends, alas! are few;
The wild estrangement of a heart
You once believed so true:
Though Sorrows “in battalions” come,
With which 'tis hard to cope,
And the sad soul, beleaguered 'round,
Hath nothing left but Hope;
What spell can lull the tempest's rage,
Appease the spirit's wrong,
Like the precepts of the Poet's page,
The solace of his Song!
With which 'tis hard to cope,
And the sad soul, beleaguered 'round,
Hath nothing left but Hope;
What spell can lull the tempest's rage,
Appease the spirit's wrong,
Like the precepts of the Poet's page,
The solace of his Song!
Philosophers! so keen of sight,
Inquisitive, and, oh!
So wise, men marvel how your heads
Can carry all you know;
Who dim each impulse of delight,
By diving to its cause;
And will not give us leave to feel,
Save by your latest laws;
Inquisitive, and, oh!
So wise, men marvel how your heads
Can carry all you know;
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By diving to its cause;
And will not give us leave to feel,
Save by your latest laws;
Still peer among the stars to find
Some planet yet unknown;
But leave that world the human heart,
And its mystic chords alone!
Rob not the Poet of the right
He hath maintained so long;
The realms of earth and sky be yours,
But leave him those of Song!
Some planet yet unknown;
But leave that world the human heart,
And its mystic chords alone!
Rob not the Poet of the right
He hath maintained so long;
The realms of earth and sky be yours,
But leave him those of Song!
Votaries of Science! whose exploits
The world with wonder fill,
Who faster than the wind can speed
The mandates of your will;
Cross not the Poet's woodland path,
He never did you wrong;
Harvests of wisdom still go reap,
But leave to earth its Song!
The world with wonder fill,
Who faster than the wind can speed
The mandates of your will;
Cross not the Poet's woodland path,
He never did you wrong;
Harvests of wisdom still go reap,
But leave to earth its Song!
Ye Mammon-worshippers! forbear
To vent on Song your spleen;
Pactolus is your cherished fount,
Your only Hippocrene!
The Golden Age of Peace and Love,
By poets hymned of old,
Would have no charm for such as you,
Who crave an Age of Gold!
To vent on Song your spleen;
Pactolus is your cherished fount,
Your only Hippocrene!
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By poets hymned of old,
Would have no charm for such as you,
Who crave an Age of Gold!
Still to your Baal bend the knee,
Your sordid homage pay,
Till the base idol topples down,
And proves but worthless clay!
For you the minstrel's tuneful art
Were ever plied in vain,
Who centre every thought in self,
Whose only God is gain!
Your sordid homage pay,
Till the base idol topples down,
And proves but worthless clay!
For you the minstrel's tuneful art
Were ever plied in vain,
Who centre every thought in self,
Whose only God is gain!
He hath no wisdom in the lore
With which your hearts are filled;
A novice in the Halls of Pride;
In the world's ways, a child!
Suffering, the badge of all his tribe,
Is his, neglect and wrong,
And Sorrow teaches him, too oft,
The burthen of his Song!
With which your hearts are filled;
A novice in the Halls of Pride;
In the world's ways, a child!
Suffering, the badge of all his tribe,
Is his, neglect and wrong,
And Sorrow teaches him, too oft,
The burthen of his Song!
Yet from that dark and bitter spring,
Like Marah's fount of yore,
Flows many a sweet and healing draught,
For thirsting hearts and sore;
And proud and thrilling strains had slept,
That now to earth belong,
Had not the kindling touch of grief
Prompted so oft the Song!
Like Marah's fount of yore,
Flows many a sweet and healing draught,
For thirsting hearts and sore;
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That now to earth belong,
Had not the kindling touch of grief
Prompted so oft the Song!
When he, the well-beloved of Heaven,
The monarch-minstrel sung,
Truths, that come home to every breast,
Resound from every tongue;
Oppressed, by “trouble” compassed round,
And foes, in falsehood strong,
The sorrows that subdued his heart,
But sanctified his Song!
The monarch-minstrel sung,
Truths, that come home to every breast,
Resound from every tongue;
Oppressed, by “trouble” compassed round,
And foes, in falsehood strong,
The sorrows that subdued his heart,
But sanctified his Song!
The love of Song can never fade,
Whilst gentle hearts are rife,
To feel the sunshine and the balm,
It sheds on human life!
Whilst Youth, fond, warm, ingenuous Youth,
In faith and hope so strong,
Finds his heart echo to its tones,
Can he choose but love the song?
Whilst gentle hearts are rife,
To feel the sunshine and the balm,
It sheds on human life!
Whilst Youth, fond, warm, ingenuous Youth,
In faith and hope so strong,
Finds his heart echo to its tones,
Can he choose but love the song?
“Earth's Poesy is never dead,”
'Tis breathing everywhere,
In the starlight stillness of the night,
In the bright, warm, noontide air;
The grassy glade, the waving wood,
The broad, upheaving sea;
The intermittent flash and roar
Of Heaven's artillery;
'Tis breathing everywhere,
In the starlight stillness of the night,
In the bright, warm, noontide air;
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The broad, upheaving sea;
The intermittent flash and roar
Of Heaven's artillery;
The mountain-tops by sunshine crowned,
Whilst girt by clouds below;
The twin-notes of the cuckoo's shout,
The summer twilight's glow;
The corn that sways with every breeze;
The river smooth yet strong,
That glides like life away; all, all
Are redolent of Song.
Whilst girt by clouds below;
The twin-notes of the cuckoo's shout,
The summer twilight's glow;
The corn that sways with every breeze;
The river smooth yet strong,
That glides like life away; all, all
Are redolent of Song.
It is not sooth, it cannot be,
That the love of Song is o'er!
That the strains that were our childhood's spell,
May charm our sons no more!
Till Fancy fades, and Hope grows chill,
And Pity's self hath fled,
The love of Poesy can ne'er
In British hearts be dead.
That the love of Song is o'er!
That the strains that were our childhood's spell,
May charm our sons no more!
Till Fancy fades, and Hope grows chill,
And Pity's self hath fled,
The love of Poesy can ne'er
In British hearts be dead.
Then, “blessings on the sons of Song,
“Eternal praise be theirs,
“Who gave us truth and pure delight,”
And “nobler loves and cares.”
And the “still, small voice of Gratitude”
Must cease for aye on earth,
Ere we forget, or cease to prize,
Their wisdom and their worth.
“Eternal praise be theirs,
“Who gave us truth and pure delight,”
And “nobler loves and cares.”
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Must cease for aye on earth,
Ere we forget, or cease to prize,
Their wisdom and their worth.
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