Poems (Hooper)/The Singer

by Lucy Hamilton Hooper

For works with similar titles, see The Singer.

THE SINGER. "What porridge had John Keats?"—Browning.

The revel reigned in kingly halls,
 The mirth was fast and free;
They called the bard to lend the feast
 The charm of minstrelsy.

He came, and sang of knightly deeds,
 Of battles lost and won,
Of hero deaths and laurel crowns—
 And still the feast went on.

He sang of beauty and of love,
 Of poet-dreams divine.
Some boasted of their steeds and swords,
 Some praised the purple wine.

The melody unheeded rose,
 Where jest and laughter rang.
Who recked the minstrel or his lay?
 Who heard the song he sang?

Ah! there was one, who sat apart
 Silent amid the throng,
Whose changing cheek and moistened eye
 Confessed the power of song.

And as the music died away
 In cadence low and sweet,
The richest gem that young knight wore
 Fell at the minstrel's feet.

So sings the poet in the mart
 Where jest and scoff are ringing,
Nor knows what sympathizing heart
 Respondeth to his singing.

If one amid the careless crowd
 Pauses to hear his strain,
And better, nobler, turns away,
 He has not sung in vain.

And, though unheeded he may sing
 And win but sneer and blame,
Hereafter at his feet may fall
 Earth's fairest jewel—Fame.