AH, fair in age! if thou hadst lived in Greece,
At wise Athena's feast thou hadst been named To bear aloft the olive of pure peace,
With those in winter years for graces famed.
WHO can bar the way of song?
Who can do the Muse a wrong?
Ne'er could bondsman bondsman be,
If she willed to set him free.
Though he kept Admetus' flocks,
He would see the trees and rocks,
And a thousand wild feet dancing
To his pipes and glees entrancing!
Thoroughfares and crowded courts
Cannot spoil the Muse's sports;
Walls scholastic, tradesman's frown,
Cannot hedge nor put her down:
While we plod, she 's flown to find
Haunts more suited to her mind;
Or, if any should gainsay,
She can sweep the crowd away,
Bound and landmark can displace
For her royal pleasure-chase.
Oh, the masker! Oh, the scout!
Deft as Love, in seeking out
Those on whom she casts her charm!
Once upon a mountain farm,
MUSA VICTRIX.
As a plowman drove the share,
Fell a blossom small and fair;
Then she bade him sing for pity
The shorn daisy's passing ditty.
Once into a lecture-room,
On a morn of summer bloom,
Phœbus sent an arrow bright;
Only one with eyes of light
Did divine that airy flame:
Through the room a sunbeam came,
Troops of shining creatures in it!
No delay - that very minute
I was off, with their light band,
To Oberon and Fairyland!"
Who can bar the way of song?
Who can do the Muse a wrong?
Sooner
may the streams be reined,
Or the noonday sunbeams chained!
LONELY art thou in thy sorrow - lonely art thou;
Yet, lone as thou art, at least it is left thee to sing:
Thy heart-blood staining the thorn on the secret bough,
Make the deep woodland ring!
Well-friended art thou in thy joy — well-friended art thou;
No longer, Love-kept as thou art, it is left thee to sing: Thou, in thy down-soft nest on the summer bough,
Foldest both song and wing.
SUMMER's lingering, homesick bird,
Winter's tree the frost hath furred,
Summer's grass-blade starting light
Through the Winter's mantle white;
Summer's flower and Winter's flake,
Grievous sight!
(Down, poor Summer, else my heart will break!)
Youth, a shepherd piping blithe;
Age, a caitiff with a scythe;
Youth, warm faith and eager gust;
Age, chill cavil and distrust;
Youth the dreamer, Age awake,
(Down, poor Youth, or else my heart will break!)
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