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213

SONGS

I

Now in golden glory goes
Autumn toward the time of snows:
Ere white winter come indeed,
Speed the hours, with music speed.
Heed not winter's mournful breath,
Sighing at the thought of death:
Make but music, dearly sad;
Make but music, gravely glad.
Music is a king of kings,
Mightiest of immortal things:
Music is a lord of lords,
Ruling all with royal chords.
Though the woodland ways be chill,
Though the woodland choirs be still:
Music moves the starry choir,
Music sets the soul on fire.

II

Country singers, leave not mute
Music of the voice and lute:
Country singers, come and sing;
Voice with viol rivalling.
Chaunt to Pales, chaunt to Pan,
Gods of country maid and man:
They have blessed the shepherd's fold,
Filled the fields with waves of gold.

214

On the lawns, fair lovers all!
Dance, till Hesper homeward call;
Lapped in dreamland, you will keep
Safely your delightful sleep.
But the red sun lingers yet:
While you sing, he will not set.
He is lord of light and song:
Hail him, and both joys prolong.
1893.