The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
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AN EXCUSE. |
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 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
259
AN EXCUSE.
Blame not the Minstrel's wayward will:
His soul has slumbered all too long;
He has no pulse for passion's thrill,
No lute for passion's song.
O frown not, though he turns away
Unloved, unloving, even from thee,
And mars with idle jests the lay
Where Beauty's praise should be.
His soul has slumbered all too long;
He has no pulse for passion's thrill,
No lute for passion's song.
O frown not, though he turns away
Unloved, unloving, even from thee,
And mars with idle jests the lay
Where Beauty's praise should be.
If he should bid the golden string
Be vocal to a loftier theme,
Sad Memory from her cell would bring
The fond forbidden dream;
The dream of her, whose broken chain
Than new forged bonds is far more dear;
Whose name he may not speak again,
And shudders but to hear.
Be vocal to a loftier theme,
Sad Memory from her cell would bring
The fond forbidden dream;
The dream of her, whose broken chain
Than new forged bonds is far more dear;
Whose name he may not speak again,
And shudders but to hear.
260
And if he breathes Love's hopes and fears
In many a soulless idol's shrine,
The falsehoods fit for vulgar ears
Were never fit for thine.
Take back, take back the book to-night:
Thou art too brightly—nobly fair,
For hearts so worn as his to write
Their worthless worship there.
In many a soulless idol's shrine,
The falsehoods fit for vulgar ears
Were never fit for thine.
Take back, take back the book to-night:
Thou art too brightly—nobly fair,
For hearts so worn as his to write
Their worthless worship there.
February 20, 1830.
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |