This page has been validated.
26
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
And when its music forth he drew
Earth half forgot her ancient pain,
For Marsyas himself ne'er blew
A purer, sweeter strain!
Though some there be who, self-attired
In robes of judgment they misuse,
Protest that he was not inspired
By the authentic Muse,—
Love, granting all his faults to these,
Forever holds his name apart,
Who moved not senseless stones and trees,
But the quick human heart.
"The people's poet." Did he lack
Return? He served in high degree
The people, and they gave him back
Their immortality!
Time careless grows of costly wit,
Brave monuments are quickly gone,—
But that which on the heart is writ
Lives on, and on, and on!
