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36 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
The drcamer woke—his visitant was gone;
But in his hand he found the ringing lyre, Amid whose chords his fingers wander'd on,
Until his soul was wrapt with living fire.
And then he sought the crowd at Pleasure's gates, And pour'd sweet numbers from his wild harp forth,
Awoke the themes that passion's fire creates, And sung till he entranced the giddy earth.
He brought his heavenly gift, debased and mean, And laid it down on an unhallow'd shrine,
With the high soul, whose passions might have been Tuned with its chords to music all divine.
Ah ! gifted child of song—who knoweth yet The blighting influence thou hast left behind!
Although thy sun of life long since has set, That influence floats upon the sea of mind.
And it can never cease to exert its power, Till the archangel from that other clime
Shall stand amid the clouds that round us lower, And in high tones pronounce the end of time.
Another child was laid in rosy sleep, "When the same angel sought his cradle bed,
Bringing a lyre of the same woadrous sweep, Gave the same warning, and as quickly fled. |
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