Part 2

I've hummed the music after thee as well As changing tones of youth allowed, and fear, And vexing sprites that choke the upward swell. But yet, perchance, some bosom it may cheer, By recollection making thee more dear To those who've drunk thy music at its spring, To some, mayhap, who never learned to hear,-- Alas! poor, wretched souls!--its sound may bring Some semblance of thy strain, some wish to hear thee sing.

What though I have expounded nothing new, And traced, I trow, unworthily the old? Song is no mystic science.--Men may do Strange things in other spheres, and may unfold Secrets unthought, tell tales before untold; But what thou wilt, the bard; nor less, nor more. And to the mind informed in Nature's mould Thou has revealed thyself--the same of yore, The same to-day thou art, and shalt be evermore.

Let them who will, content themselves to sing In trifling pageantry and gilt array, To pluck the song-beads from the shimmering string That skirts thy robe. But such my soul doth sway As makes me hang upon thy breast and say "_I love thee!_"--as a mistress?--then mine own; Blindly and recklessly?--some future day, Mine eye, from thine clearer and stronger grown, May thrid the straggling stars and search the deepening dawn.

O, make my soul an argosy of song, Tranquilly floating on a sea of peace, As with her rowers beautiful and strong Some trireme bears among the Isles of Greece With music-muffled oars! Give safe release From murky moorings, storms, and rocks that jar, And let its pearls in purity increase, Until with singing sails it cross the bar To melt in golden waves with gems of many a star!