 | Poems |  |
42
BALLAD.
[With frolic children of the earth]
With frolic children of the earth,
Whose thoughtless hearts were light and glad,
Whose voices woke no sound but mirth,
The minstrel boy was mute and sad!
His heart was like his harp too much,—
Unwaken'd, that would never wake;
And where the heart-strings none can touch,
The heart will silent be, or break.
Whose thoughtless hearts were light and glad,
Whose voices woke no sound but mirth,
The minstrel boy was mute and sad!
His heart was like his harp too much,—
Unwaken'd, that would never wake;
And where the heart-strings none can touch,
The heart will silent be, or break.
But when the chosen few ones spoke
To genius, taste, and feeling dear,
Fast as each heart-strung chord they woke,
Its soft response 'twas sweet to hear!
Were love, or war, or woe the theme,
He pour'd so wild, so dear a strain,
Lull'd them in so divine a dream,
None ever wish'd to wake again!
To genius, taste, and feeling dear,
Fast as each heart-strung chord they woke,
Its soft response 'twas sweet to hear!
Were love, or war, or woe the theme,
He pour'd so wild, so dear a strain,
Lull'd them in so divine a dream,
None ever wish'd to wake again!
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