University of Virginia Library

VII.

Laughter and tears alike were at his nod,
Humour and wit ran sparkling rich as wine;
And at the rare carousal, half divine,
He sat amid his subjects, like a god
Waited upon by satyrs.
Like a bee,
He sipped sweet honey from the bitterest flower;
And at his touch the starkest wintry tree
Rained down its apples in a golden shower.
Young men and maidens whisp'ring, still rehearse
Their joys and sorrows in his manly verse;
His witching words still well o'er budding lips,
Mantling soft cheeks in ruddy dimple-dips
And innocent laughters of the ancient prime;
And still, at hearthstone, and at rural fair,
Old men and matrons, heeding not that Time

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Hath furrow'd cheek and brow, and blanch'd the glossy hair,
Chuckle and murmur o'er the magic rhyme,
Brimful of life and light, and all youth's dainty fare;
Nature, full-lipped, was singing in his heart;
And, though the wounded poet felt the smart
Of poverty, yet, like a bird in spring,
Soul-full of music, he did nought but sing,
And in the choral whole, he grandly bore his part.