SIIAKSPEARE. 189
Made ancient buttress and grim battlement Their nursing-mothers.
But again I asked,
" "What nurtured Shakspeare ? " The rejoicing birds Wore a wild song, whose burden seeijied to be, He was their pupil when he chose, and knew Their secret maze of melody to wind, Snatching its sweetness for his winged strain With careless hand.
The timid flowrets said, " lie came among us like a sleepless bee, And all those pure and rarest essences, Concocted by our union with the skies, Which in our cups or zones we fain would hide, He rifled for himself and bore away."
The winds, careering in their might, replied, " Upon our wings he rode, and visited The utmost stars. We could not shake him off. Even on the fleecy clouds he laid his hand, As on a courser s mane, and made them work With all their countless hues his wondrous will."
And then meek Avon raised a murmuring voice, What time the Sabbath-chimes came pealing sweet Through the umbrageous trees, and told how oft Along those banks he wandered, pacing slow, As if to read the depths.
Ere I had closed My questioning, the ready rain came down,
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