Page:Poems Denver.djvu/116

To tell of all thy greatness past,
 How fortune o'er thee frowned,
Till thy proud spirit broke at last,
 O, master of sweet sound!

"Speak to me yet once more! I long
 To hear thy voice again;
Methinks pale phantoms round me throng.
 Ah! must I call in vain!
Charm them, I pray thee, from my sight;
 I dread to be alone,
With the dim spectres of the night,
 Close gathering round thine own!

"Thou wast not wont to be so still
 E'en in the face of wrong;
Why has thy bosom ceased to thrill
 To the sweet voice of song?
I've seen the flashing of thine eye,
 The mantling of thy cheek,
Whilst dreaming o'er the melody,
 Thy lips alone could speak?

"Spent, spent at last! the gifted heart
 Is silent, throbless now;
The mind that brought with sudden start
 The life-blood to the brow,
Is powerless as the breeze that flies
 Along the ocean's breast,
When not a cloud is in the skies,
 And every sail at rest.