That strange, sweet picture—by the Enchanter's wand
Familiar to our spirits made, and near!
But suddenly a rich and resonant sound
Thrilled from the skies and waters; lo, the chimes
Of Stratford rang and rang; the very ground
Murmured, as with a deep-voiced poet's rhymes;
Then swift melodious tone on tone was hurled:
'T was Shakespeare's music brimmed the trembling world.
IN WORDSWORTH'S ORCHARD
DOVE COTTAGE
In Wordsworth's orchard, one sweet summer day,
Breathless we listened to his thrushes sing;
We heard the trickling of the little spring
Beneath the terrace; saw the tender play
Of breezes 'midst the leaves; scarce could we say
The well-loved verses whose rich blossoming
Was on this narrow hillside; strange they ring
For tears that choke the numbers on their way.
Then home by winding Rothay did we turn
While bird, and bloom, and mountain seemed his voice
Deep sounding to the spiritual ear—
And this its message: Let love in thee burn,
Here learn in holy beauty to rejoice,
Here learn true living, and the song sincere.
SIR WALTER SCOTT
I
Rhymers and writers of our day,
Too much of melancholy!
