THE SESSIONS OF PARNASSUS.
223
The Judge looks dangerous from his wrathful eyes;
But soon relenting at that genial glance,
He, softening, opens thus his charge: "Advance!
We should example make of one so rude:
But 'mid our peers and gentle sisterhood
So many friends make interest in thy cause
That rigorous Justice deigns to list, and pause."
Replied the bard: "For lack of courtesy,
In presence such as this, none more than I
Could mourn his own short-comings: good my lord!
Thanks to all friends that lent me favoring word."
"Enough!" said Phœbus, as he waved his hand,
"On graver charge we've called thee to the stand.
Where is the lyre, by our too partial love
Confided, when thy earliest songs were wove,
To thy twin-brother (now no more) and thee?
Dead Drake! is Halleck, then, less dead than he?
Unstrung, abandoned to the dust, that lyre
No more awakes us with its living fire.
Thy precious gifts all flung ignobly by,
When wings should give the energy to fly;
With voice, lyre, skill, and favoring gods, O shame!
That Halleck loiters at the heels of Fame!"
But soon relenting at that genial glance,
He, softening, opens thus his charge: "Advance!
We should example make of one so rude:
But 'mid our peers and gentle sisterhood
So many friends make interest in thy cause
That rigorous Justice deigns to list, and pause."
Replied the bard: "For lack of courtesy,
In presence such as this, none more than I
Could mourn his own short-comings: good my lord!
Thanks to all friends that lent me favoring word."
"Enough!" said Phœbus, as he waved his hand,
"On graver charge we've called thee to the stand.
Where is the lyre, by our too partial love
Confided, when thy earliest songs were wove,
To thy twin-brother (now no more) and thee?
Dead Drake! is Halleck, then, less dead than he?
Unstrung, abandoned to the dust, that lyre
No more awakes us with its living fire.
Thy precious gifts all flung ignobly by,
When wings should give the energy to fly;
With voice, lyre, skill, and favoring gods, O shame!
That Halleck loiters at the heels of Fame!"
Quailed the poor bard: but more he felt the smart
Of self-reproach, that stung his troubled heart.
"Great Judge and Sovereign, thou hast justly spoke;
Without excuse, save what would smiles provoke.
I can but hint that, Pegasus, grown old,
Prefers to graze him in the quiet fold;
And marks the caperings, with solemn eye,
Of reckless colts careering through the sky;
And hard the task, in this poor spavined state,
To prick the veteran to a decent gait.
When bards advanced would float, and dream again
In that rare half-way heaven, the muses reign,
They 're prone, o'erbalanced by the drowsy god,
To topple over in the 'land of Nod.'
And 't were not wise, with rusty lyre, again
To claim your ears with my old-fashioned strain."
"By Jove! we fear not," shouts the god of day;
Of self-reproach, that stung his troubled heart.
"Great Judge and Sovereign, thou hast justly spoke;
Without excuse, save what would smiles provoke.
I can but hint that, Pegasus, grown old,
Prefers to graze him in the quiet fold;
And marks the caperings, with solemn eye,
Of reckless colts careering through the sky;
And hard the task, in this poor spavined state,
To prick the veteran to a decent gait.
When bards advanced would float, and dream again
In that rare half-way heaven, the muses reign,
They 're prone, o'erbalanced by the drowsy god,
To topple over in the 'land of Nod.'
And 't were not wise, with rusty lyre, again
To claim your ears with my old-fashioned strain."
"By Jove! we fear not," shouts the god of day;
