the poet of to-day.
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It brought strange, charmed words, and magic singing,
And forms of beauty burning on the sight,—
Young loves their flight through airs ambrosial winging,
And dark-browed heroes arming for the fight,—
And forms of beauty burning on the sight,—
Young loves their flight through airs ambrosial winging,
And dark-browed heroes arming for the fight,—
The trumpet's "golden cry," the shield's quick flashing,
The dance of banners and the rush of war,—
Death-showers of arrows and the spear's sharp clashing,—
The homeward rolling of the victor's car!
The dance of banners and the rush of war,—
Death-showers of arrows and the spear's sharp clashing,—
The homeward rolling of the victor's car!
But ah! in all that song's heroic story,
Had sad Humanity one briefest part?
Sounds through the clang of words, the storm, the glory,
One sharp, strong cry from out her bleeding heart?
Had sad Humanity one briefest part?
Sounds through the clang of words, the storm, the glory,
One sharp, strong cry from out her bleeding heart?
But unto thee the soul of song is given,
O Poet of to-day, a grander dower,—
Comes from a higher than the Olympian heaven,
In holier beauty and in larger power.
O Poet of to-day, a grander dower,—
Comes from a higher than the Olympian heaven,
In holier beauty and in larger power.
To thee Humanity, her woes revealing,
Would all her griefs and ancient wrongs rehearse;
Would make thy song the voice of her appealing,
And sob her mighty sorrows through thy verse.
Would all her griefs and ancient wrongs rehearse;
Would make thy song the voice of her appealing,
And sob her mighty sorrows through thy verse.
