THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT.

Thrice happy Child! a brighter lot is thine;
(What new illusion e'er can match the first?)
We mourn to see each cherished hope decline;

Thy mirth is loudest when thy bubbles burst.

THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT.

213

ON HEARING IT ASSERTED THAT THE AGE OF POETRY, LIKE THAT OF CHIVALRY, WAS GONE.

"Blessings be with them, and eternal praise,
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares,
The Poets;-who on earth have made us heirs
Of Truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!"

Ir is not true, it cannot be,

That the love of Song is o'er;

WORDSWORTH.

Though the mightier masters of the Lyre
May wake their harps no more:
Though cold are now their tuneful lips,
To us shall still belong

A heritage of priceless gifts,

Bequeathed in deathless Song!

Did love of country die with them ;
Pride in our Island birth;

Or Honour to the dust go down,
When they returned to earth?
Did the heart's best affections cease,
When they resigned their breath?
Were Love, Hope, Loyalty, and Faith,
Extinguished by their death?