 | Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems |  |
51
HOMER.
He stood within the temple's porch,
A beggar old and gray,
Where fell, upon his sightless orbs,
The cheering beam of day.
They passed him by,—in pomp and pride—
Proud warriors, nobly clad;
Yet spoke no word to the hoary bard,
His sorrowing heart to glad.
A beggar old and gray,
Where fell, upon his sightless orbs,
The cheering beam of day.
They passed him by,—in pomp and pride—
Proud warriors, nobly clad;
Yet spoke no word to the hoary bard,
His sorrowing heart to glad.
There Childhood's joyous laugh rang out;
There youth, with pleading tone,
Breathed soft in maiden's ear the vow
That her he loved alone;
Each heart rejoiced amid the throng
Some answering heart to find,
But all passed by, with cold disdain,
The beggar old and blind.
There youth, with pleading tone,
Breathed soft in maiden's ear the vow
That her he loved alone;
Each heart rejoiced amid the throng
Some answering heart to find,
But all passed by, with cold disdain,
The beggar old and blind.
52
Was this the meed of the primal bard—
The monarch of the lyre,
Who wildly struck its trembling chords
With all a poet's fire?
Who woke the slumbering might of song,
And heard with spirit-ear,
The sounding chime of the starry hosts—
The music of each sphere?
The monarch of the lyre,
Who wildly struck its trembling chords
With all a poet's fire?
Who woke the slumbering might of song,
And heard with spirit-ear,
The sounding chime of the starry hosts—
The music of each sphere?
What though he ne'er might see the morn,
Glow o'er th' Olympian steep,
Nor the purple car of the setting sun
Sink in the Ægean deep,
To him 'twas given, on daring wing,
'Mid Heaven's bright halls to roam,
And tread the pale realms of the dead,
In Pluto's sunless home!
Glow o'er th' Olympian steep,
Nor the purple car of the setting sun
Sink in the Ægean deep,
To him 'twas given, on daring wing,
'Mid Heaven's bright halls to roam,
And tread the pale realms of the dead,
In Pluto's sunless home!
And they who looked with cold disdain
Upon his humble guise—
Ask ye of Fame their names and deeds,—
No answering sound replies:
While he, through ages dark and lone,
Like some watch-light afar
To the pilgrim on his midnight way,
Has been a guiding star.
Upon his humble guise—
Ask ye of Fame their names and deeds,—
No answering sound replies:
While he, through ages dark and lone,
Like some watch-light afar
To the pilgrim on his midnight way,
Has been a guiding star.
53
And never shall that lustre fade;
In strength, it still appears
Like some gray rock that lifts its head
Above the tide of years;
That braves, unmoved, the tempest's might—
Hurls back the sheeted foam,
And reared amid the storm-cloud, seems
To be the lightning's home!
In strength, it still appears
Like some gray rock that lifts its head
Above the tide of years;
That braves, unmoved, the tempest's might—
Hurls back the sheeted foam,
And reared amid the storm-cloud, seems
To be the lightning's home!
From shores the boy of Macedon
Ne'er trod with his charging bands,
Where'er looks the sun in his morning march,
On earth's remotest lands;
They worship the power of his god-like mind,
They treasure his deathless lay—
For the lamp he kindled with Heaven's own flame
Shall burn, undimmed, for aye!
Ne'er trod with his charging bands,
Where'er looks the sun in his morning march,
On earth's remotest lands;
They worship the power of his god-like mind,
They treasure his deathless lay—
For the lamp he kindled with Heaven's own flame
Shall burn, undimmed, for aye!
| Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems | |