THE GOLDEN MUSICIAN
Melodious Bird, thy winsome wordFalls sweetly on my ear!Stupendous Song, ’tis borne along,Mellow and deft and clear,Till each soul-nook with music shookRings back with merry cheer!What vivid change will it so range!Swiftly ’twill follow afterA pensive chirp with gay “stoup-stirp”Ringing with merry laughter,Until its chime in resonant rimeEchoes from roof and rafter.The livelong day, come gloom or grey,Always and ever singing;Be ’tbliss or ill so singing still,Cheerily, merrily ringing,Thou upon us in music thusSpray of delight art flinging.Is it a strand, a vagrant hand,From Love’s exalted treasure,So bearing us voluptuousRare peals of delicate pleasure,Thrilling the soul, tho’ vast and wholeIts fullness mocks all measure?’Tis as a word inwardly stirred,As Memory subtly lingersO’er Hours fled by the Noon, that liePast touch of confident fingers,Yet that upcall the bowered hall,The voice of silent singers.Then say, oh Mage of antique age,These, are they gifts of oldenAnd lovelit days whereto in praiseI utter back beholden?—See, see, thy throat trilling each noteThrobs like a zephyr golden.There—as I gaze in rapt amaze—Swollen with rare emotion,Fervid of joy, scorning alloy,Spurning a base devotionTo shackled earth, it trips a mirthAll of a heavenly potion.A murmurous note doth freely floatLike waves of rippling water;Then a high song doth course alongTo Sorrow uttering slaughter,Commanding forth in merry wrathBliss and her jocund daughter.Attenuate heights in perilous flights,Soaring in eagle fashion,Thou seekest out, from whence aboutOn aching ears there flash onRhythms unwrought, delights unthought,Echoes of ageless passion.Oh, this divine rare lay of thineRings like a heavenly lyric,Lulling each sense, wafting me hence,Bidding the World’s EmpiricFade on my ear awhile, to hearThy cadence full and spheric.Thy splendid boon of glorious TuneHath tongues of fire cloven;Each diverse part with subtle art,Each period rich and proven,To touch to one theme till ’tis spunOf texture interwoven.Ecstatic Dreams, are these thy themes?Stung by thy wondrous lyre,So wilt thou go with quickening glow,On wings of flameless fire,From light to light in fearless flightOf music ever higher?—Till every cloud in passion proudMightily burst asunder,Display a new translunar viewWith its own soul of wonder:—Be ’t as it may, a wizard lay,Or ecstasy of thunder?For every sphere thy song’s careerSo bursts upon to capture,Amply is strewn with rhythmic tune,Whereunto to adapt yourMelodious Verse and then rehearseOnce more its delicate rapture.Hardly content with music pentIn melodies once givenWilt thou again repeat the strain,Till on by passion driven,That every clause may peal applauseOf harmony twice striven?Oh, that the Muse would touch to useThis lyre as thine ’tis using!Then might I rise with mystical eyes,Swoll’n with the theme of musing,Soaring athirst my song to burstWith utterance scarce of choosing.So Song would scorn corporeal bourne;Dilated so pursuingWith eager breast its passionate quest,All transient worth eschewing,Pausing its lute awhile when, mute,Life’s towering Vasts reviewing.How then ’twould wear a rapture rare,An other-worldly glory;In rich array each simple layDecking Life’s thought or story;Still dew-impearled were all the worldSombre and blear and hoary.On Wonder’s wing ’twould featly bringExultant exaltationTo all that foot amid the bruitOf daily lot and station,In uttering such clear dreams as touchDoubt unto Adoration,So shall the Balm—oh winsome charm!—Of her rhapsodic madnessKeep blithe and young the World’s wild tongue;Its trick of gloom and sadnessBanish away from the light of dayWith an unquestioning Gladness.The spiritous reign of Song’s domainEternity embowers:Ere faulty Man his Hour began’T had rung the heavenly towersWith echoing shaft-peals, that now waftEarth with ecstatic showers.With hesitant ruth we ponder Truth,Thou sing’st as thou dost know it—Beholding it all wonder-writ,Then unto us to show itIn sweeping tune, unwrought, pure-hewn,Dear never-halting Poet!Yet our frail Song ’twixt Right and WrongOfttimes will pierce unwitting;As were the gleams of Poet’s dreamsFair beams of Beauty flittingWhence Reason ne’er snuffed thro’ the airWooing Time’s proud permitting.No longer with pard, kin or kith,Stranger, so wilt thou wanderA murky isle, in splendid styleEcstatic Song to squanderOn such as fain would turn againThy source of Song to ponder?Not thine to greet the Sun’s high beatOn Freedom’s pinions soaring!Nor thine the rich rapt melody whichThy woody tribes are pouring!But all apart with tuneful artSpiritual realms exploring!Within the gloom o’ a dusky room,All in a dusky CityCallow and wan, so tun’st thou onHigh anthem and soft ditty?Scarce thine the mood and attitudeWaking a captive’s pity!What reckest thou if leafy boughOr plaster palanquin thee!Howe’er thou yearn for the Noons that burnNot gloom nor bars may win theeFrom the clear Joy pure of alloyExquisitely strung within thee.Then sing thou on, while I uponThe flight of thy pure VisionAm borne aloft on pinions soft,Perceiving no elision,Thither whence Life and Toil and StrifeAre Pity and Derision.Yet, that I might pursue the flight,Purer and swifter travelPast blame or praise, till Life’s AmazeShall dwindle and unravel,Sweetly to shine like this of thine,Rare Beauty, scarce a cavil.
Melodious Bird, thy winsome wordFalls sweetly on my ear!Stupendous Song, ’tis borne along,Mellow and deft and clear,Till each soul-nook with music shookRings back with merry cheer!What vivid change will it so range!Swiftly ’twill follow afterA pensive chirp with gay “stoup-stirp”Ringing with merry laughter,Until its chime in resonant rimeEchoes from roof and rafter.The livelong day, come gloom or grey,Always and ever singing;Be ’tbliss or ill so singing still,Cheerily, merrily ringing,Thou upon us in music thusSpray of delight art flinging.Is it a strand, a vagrant hand,From Love’s exalted treasure,So bearing us voluptuousRare peals of delicate pleasure,Thrilling the soul, tho’ vast and wholeIts fullness mocks all measure?’Tis as a word inwardly stirred,As Memory subtly lingersO’er Hours fled by the Noon, that liePast touch of confident fingers,Yet that upcall the bowered hall,The voice of silent singers.Then say, oh Mage of antique age,These, are they gifts of oldenAnd lovelit days whereto in praiseI utter back beholden?—See, see, thy throat trilling each noteThrobs like a zephyr golden.There—as I gaze in rapt amaze—Swollen with rare emotion,Fervid of joy, scorning alloy,Spurning a base devotionTo shackled earth, it trips a mirthAll of a heavenly potion.A murmurous note doth freely floatLike waves of rippling water;Then a high song doth course alongTo Sorrow uttering slaughter,Commanding forth in merry wrathBliss and her jocund daughter.Attenuate heights in perilous flights,Soaring in eagle fashion,Thou seekest out, from whence aboutOn aching ears there flash onRhythms unwrought, delights unthought,Echoes of ageless passion.Oh, this divine rare lay of thineRings like a heavenly lyric,Lulling each sense, wafting me hence,Bidding the World’s EmpiricFade on my ear awhile, to hearThy cadence full and spheric.Thy splendid boon of glorious TuneHath tongues of fire cloven;Each diverse part with subtle art,Each period rich and proven,To touch to one theme till ’tis spunOf texture interwoven.Ecstatic Dreams, are these thy themes?Stung by thy wondrous lyre,So wilt thou go with quickening glow,On wings of flameless fire,From light to light in fearless flightOf music ever higher?—Till every cloud in passion proudMightily burst asunder,Display a new translunar viewWith its own soul of wonder:—Be ’t as it may, a wizard lay,Or ecstasy of thunder?For every sphere thy song’s careerSo bursts upon to capture,Amply is strewn with rhythmic tune,Whereunto to adapt yourMelodious Verse and then rehearseOnce more its delicate rapture.Hardly content with music pentIn melodies once givenWilt thou again repeat the strain,Till on by passion driven,That every clause may peal applauseOf harmony twice striven?Oh, that the Muse would touch to useThis lyre as thine ’tis using!Then might I rise with mystical eyes,Swoll’n with the theme of musing,Soaring athirst my song to burstWith utterance scarce of choosing.So Song would scorn corporeal bourne;Dilated so pursuingWith eager breast its passionate quest,All transient worth eschewing,Pausing its lute awhile when, mute,Life’s towering Vasts reviewing.How then ’twould wear a rapture rare,An other-worldly glory;In rich array each simple layDecking Life’s thought or story;Still dew-impearled were all the worldSombre and blear and hoary.On Wonder’s wing ’twould featly bringExultant exaltationTo all that foot amid the bruitOf daily lot and station,In uttering such clear dreams as touchDoubt unto Adoration,So shall the Balm—oh winsome charm!—Of her rhapsodic madnessKeep blithe and young the World’s wild tongue;Its trick of gloom and sadnessBanish away from the light of dayWith an unquestioning Gladness.The spiritous reign of Song’s domainEternity embowers:Ere faulty Man his Hour began’T had rung the heavenly towersWith echoing shaft-peals, that now waftEarth with ecstatic showers.With hesitant ruth we ponder Truth,Thou sing’st as thou dost know it—Beholding it all wonder-writ,Then unto us to show itIn sweeping tune, unwrought, pure-hewn,Dear never-halting Poet!Yet our frail Song ’twixt Right and WrongOfttimes will pierce unwitting;As were the gleams of Poet’s dreamsFair beams of Beauty flittingWhence Reason ne’er snuffed thro’ the airWooing Time’s proud permitting.No longer with pard, kin or kith,Stranger, so wilt thou wanderA murky isle, in splendid styleEcstatic Song to squanderOn such as fain would turn againThy source of Song to ponder?Not thine to greet the Sun’s high beatOn Freedom’s pinions soaring!Nor thine the rich rapt melody whichThy woody tribes are pouring!But all apart with tuneful artSpiritual realms exploring!Within the gloom o’ a dusky room,All in a dusky CityCallow and wan, so tun’st thou onHigh anthem and soft ditty?Scarce thine the mood and attitudeWaking a captive’s pity!What reckest thou if leafy boughOr plaster palanquin thee!Howe’er thou yearn for the Noons that burnNot gloom nor bars may win theeFrom the clear Joy pure of alloyExquisitely strung within thee.Then sing thou on, while I uponThe flight of thy pure VisionAm borne aloft on pinions soft,Perceiving no elision,Thither whence Life and Toil and StrifeAre Pity and Derision.Yet, that I might pursue the flight,Purer and swifter travelPast blame or praise, till Life’s AmazeShall dwindle and unravel,Sweetly to shine like this of thine,Rare Beauty, scarce a cavil.
Melodious Bird, thy winsome wordFalls sweetly on my ear!Stupendous Song, ’tis borne along,Mellow and deft and clear,Till each soul-nook with music shookRings back with merry cheer!
Melodious Bird, thy winsome word
Falls sweetly on my ear!
Stupendous Song, ’tis borne along,
Mellow and deft and clear,
Till each soul-nook with music shook
Rings back with merry cheer!
What vivid change will it so range!Swiftly ’twill follow afterA pensive chirp with gay “stoup-stirp”Ringing with merry laughter,Until its chime in resonant rimeEchoes from roof and rafter.
What vivid change will it so range!
Swiftly ’twill follow after
A pensive chirp with gay “stoup-stirp”
Ringing with merry laughter,
Until its chime in resonant rime
Echoes from roof and rafter.
The livelong day, come gloom or grey,Always and ever singing;Be ’tbliss or ill so singing still,Cheerily, merrily ringing,Thou upon us in music thusSpray of delight art flinging.
The livelong day, come gloom or grey,
Always and ever singing;
Be ’tbliss or ill so singing still,
Cheerily, merrily ringing,
Thou upon us in music thus
Spray of delight art flinging.
Is it a strand, a vagrant hand,From Love’s exalted treasure,So bearing us voluptuousRare peals of delicate pleasure,Thrilling the soul, tho’ vast and wholeIts fullness mocks all measure?
Is it a strand, a vagrant hand,
From Love’s exalted treasure,
So bearing us voluptuous
Rare peals of delicate pleasure,
Thrilling the soul, tho’ vast and whole
Its fullness mocks all measure?
’Tis as a word inwardly stirred,As Memory subtly lingersO’er Hours fled by the Noon, that liePast touch of confident fingers,Yet that upcall the bowered hall,The voice of silent singers.
’Tis as a word inwardly stirred,
As Memory subtly lingers
O’er Hours fled by the Noon, that lie
Past touch of confident fingers,
Yet that upcall the bowered hall,
The voice of silent singers.
Then say, oh Mage of antique age,These, are they gifts of oldenAnd lovelit days whereto in praiseI utter back beholden?—See, see, thy throat trilling each noteThrobs like a zephyr golden.
Then say, oh Mage of antique age,
These, are they gifts of olden
And lovelit days whereto in praise
I utter back beholden?—
See, see, thy throat trilling each note
Throbs like a zephyr golden.
There—as I gaze in rapt amaze—Swollen with rare emotion,Fervid of joy, scorning alloy,Spurning a base devotionTo shackled earth, it trips a mirthAll of a heavenly potion.
There—as I gaze in rapt amaze—
Swollen with rare emotion,
Fervid of joy, scorning alloy,
Spurning a base devotion
To shackled earth, it trips a mirth
All of a heavenly potion.
A murmurous note doth freely floatLike waves of rippling water;Then a high song doth course alongTo Sorrow uttering slaughter,Commanding forth in merry wrathBliss and her jocund daughter.
A murmurous note doth freely float
Like waves of rippling water;
Then a high song doth course along
To Sorrow uttering slaughter,
Commanding forth in merry wrath
Bliss and her jocund daughter.
Attenuate heights in perilous flights,Soaring in eagle fashion,Thou seekest out, from whence aboutOn aching ears there flash onRhythms unwrought, delights unthought,Echoes of ageless passion.
Attenuate heights in perilous flights,
Soaring in eagle fashion,
Thou seekest out, from whence about
On aching ears there flash on
Rhythms unwrought, delights unthought,
Echoes of ageless passion.
Oh, this divine rare lay of thineRings like a heavenly lyric,Lulling each sense, wafting me hence,Bidding the World’s EmpiricFade on my ear awhile, to hearThy cadence full and spheric.
Oh, this divine rare lay of thine
Rings like a heavenly lyric,
Lulling each sense, wafting me hence,
Bidding the World’s Empiric
Fade on my ear awhile, to hear
Thy cadence full and spheric.
Thy splendid boon of glorious TuneHath tongues of fire cloven;Each diverse part with subtle art,Each period rich and proven,To touch to one theme till ’tis spunOf texture interwoven.
Thy splendid boon of glorious Tune
Hath tongues of fire cloven;
Each diverse part with subtle art,
Each period rich and proven,
To touch to one theme till ’tis spun
Of texture interwoven.
Ecstatic Dreams, are these thy themes?Stung by thy wondrous lyre,So wilt thou go with quickening glow,On wings of flameless fire,From light to light in fearless flightOf music ever higher?—
Ecstatic Dreams, are these thy themes?
Stung by thy wondrous lyre,
So wilt thou go with quickening glow,
On wings of flameless fire,
From light to light in fearless flight
Of music ever higher?—
Till every cloud in passion proudMightily burst asunder,Display a new translunar viewWith its own soul of wonder:—Be ’t as it may, a wizard lay,Or ecstasy of thunder?
Till every cloud in passion proud
Mightily burst asunder,
Display a new translunar view
With its own soul of wonder:—
Be ’t as it may, a wizard lay,
Or ecstasy of thunder?
For every sphere thy song’s careerSo bursts upon to capture,Amply is strewn with rhythmic tune,Whereunto to adapt yourMelodious Verse and then rehearseOnce more its delicate rapture.
For every sphere thy song’s career
So bursts upon to capture,
Amply is strewn with rhythmic tune,
Whereunto to adapt your
Melodious Verse and then rehearse
Once more its delicate rapture.
Hardly content with music pentIn melodies once givenWilt thou again repeat the strain,Till on by passion driven,That every clause may peal applauseOf harmony twice striven?
Hardly content with music pent
In melodies once given
Wilt thou again repeat the strain,
Till on by passion driven,
That every clause may peal applause
Of harmony twice striven?
Oh, that the Muse would touch to useThis lyre as thine ’tis using!Then might I rise with mystical eyes,Swoll’n with the theme of musing,Soaring athirst my song to burstWith utterance scarce of choosing.
Oh, that the Muse would touch to use
This lyre as thine ’tis using!
Then might I rise with mystical eyes,
Swoll’n with the theme of musing,
Soaring athirst my song to burst
With utterance scarce of choosing.
So Song would scorn corporeal bourne;Dilated so pursuingWith eager breast its passionate quest,All transient worth eschewing,Pausing its lute awhile when, mute,Life’s towering Vasts reviewing.
So Song would scorn corporeal bourne;
Dilated so pursuing
With eager breast its passionate quest,
All transient worth eschewing,
Pausing its lute awhile when, mute,
Life’s towering Vasts reviewing.
How then ’twould wear a rapture rare,An other-worldly glory;In rich array each simple layDecking Life’s thought or story;Still dew-impearled were all the worldSombre and blear and hoary.
How then ’twould wear a rapture rare,
An other-worldly glory;
In rich array each simple lay
Decking Life’s thought or story;
Still dew-impearled were all the world
Sombre and blear and hoary.
On Wonder’s wing ’twould featly bringExultant exaltationTo all that foot amid the bruitOf daily lot and station,In uttering such clear dreams as touchDoubt unto Adoration,
On Wonder’s wing ’twould featly bring
Exultant exaltation
To all that foot amid the bruit
Of daily lot and station,
In uttering such clear dreams as touch
Doubt unto Adoration,
So shall the Balm—oh winsome charm!—Of her rhapsodic madnessKeep blithe and young the World’s wild tongue;Its trick of gloom and sadnessBanish away from the light of dayWith an unquestioning Gladness.
So shall the Balm—oh winsome charm!—
Of her rhapsodic madness
Keep blithe and young the World’s wild tongue;
Its trick of gloom and sadness
Banish away from the light of day
With an unquestioning Gladness.
The spiritous reign of Song’s domainEternity embowers:Ere faulty Man his Hour began’T had rung the heavenly towersWith echoing shaft-peals, that now waftEarth with ecstatic showers.
The spiritous reign of Song’s domain
Eternity embowers:
Ere faulty Man his Hour began
’T had rung the heavenly towers
With echoing shaft-peals, that now waft
Earth with ecstatic showers.
With hesitant ruth we ponder Truth,Thou sing’st as thou dost know it—Beholding it all wonder-writ,Then unto us to show itIn sweeping tune, unwrought, pure-hewn,Dear never-halting Poet!
With hesitant ruth we ponder Truth,
Thou sing’st as thou dost know it—
Beholding it all wonder-writ,
Then unto us to show it
In sweeping tune, unwrought, pure-hewn,
Dear never-halting Poet!
Yet our frail Song ’twixt Right and WrongOfttimes will pierce unwitting;As were the gleams of Poet’s dreamsFair beams of Beauty flittingWhence Reason ne’er snuffed thro’ the airWooing Time’s proud permitting.
Yet our frail Song ’twixt Right and Wrong
Ofttimes will pierce unwitting;
As were the gleams of Poet’s dreams
Fair beams of Beauty flitting
Whence Reason ne’er snuffed thro’ the air
Wooing Time’s proud permitting.
No longer with pard, kin or kith,Stranger, so wilt thou wanderA murky isle, in splendid styleEcstatic Song to squanderOn such as fain would turn againThy source of Song to ponder?
No longer with pard, kin or kith,
Stranger, so wilt thou wander
A murky isle, in splendid style
Ecstatic Song to squander
On such as fain would turn again
Thy source of Song to ponder?
Not thine to greet the Sun’s high beatOn Freedom’s pinions soaring!Nor thine the rich rapt melody whichThy woody tribes are pouring!But all apart with tuneful artSpiritual realms exploring!
Not thine to greet the Sun’s high beat
On Freedom’s pinions soaring!
Nor thine the rich rapt melody which
Thy woody tribes are pouring!
But all apart with tuneful art
Spiritual realms exploring!
Within the gloom o’ a dusky room,All in a dusky CityCallow and wan, so tun’st thou onHigh anthem and soft ditty?Scarce thine the mood and attitudeWaking a captive’s pity!
Within the gloom o’ a dusky room,
All in a dusky City
Callow and wan, so tun’st thou on
High anthem and soft ditty?
Scarce thine the mood and attitude
Waking a captive’s pity!
What reckest thou if leafy boughOr plaster palanquin thee!Howe’er thou yearn for the Noons that burnNot gloom nor bars may win theeFrom the clear Joy pure of alloyExquisitely strung within thee.
What reckest thou if leafy bough
Or plaster palanquin thee!
Howe’er thou yearn for the Noons that burn
Not gloom nor bars may win thee
From the clear Joy pure of alloy
Exquisitely strung within thee.
Then sing thou on, while I uponThe flight of thy pure VisionAm borne aloft on pinions soft,Perceiving no elision,Thither whence Life and Toil and StrifeAre Pity and Derision.
Then sing thou on, while I upon
The flight of thy pure Vision
Am borne aloft on pinions soft,
Perceiving no elision,
Thither whence Life and Toil and Strife
Are Pity and Derision.
Yet, that I might pursue the flight,Purer and swifter travelPast blame or praise, till Life’s AmazeShall dwindle and unravel,Sweetly to shine like this of thine,Rare Beauty, scarce a cavil.
Yet, that I might pursue the flight,
Purer and swifter travel
Past blame or praise, till Life’s Amaze
Shall dwindle and unravel,
Sweetly to shine like this of thine,
Rare Beauty, scarce a cavil.