STRADIVARIUS.
YOUR soul was lifted by the wings to-day-
Hearing the master of the violin :
You praised him, praised the great Sebastian too
Who made that fine Chaconne ; but did you think
Of old Antonio Stradivari ? — him
Who a good century and half ago
Put his true work in that brown instrument
And by the nice adjustment of its frame
Gave it responsive life, continuous
With the master's finger-tips and perfected
Like them by delicate rectitude of use.
Not Bach alone, helped by fine precedent
Of genius gone before, nor Joachim
Who holds the strain afresh incorporate
By inward hearing and notation strict
Of nerve and muscle, made our joy to-day :
Another soul was living in the air
And swaying it to true deliverance
Of high invention and responsive skill :
That plain white-aproned man who stood at work
Patient and accurate full fourscore years,
Cherished his sight and touch by temperance,
And since keen sense is love of perfectness
Made perfect violins, the needed paths
For inspiration and high mastery.
No simpler man than he : he never cried,
"Why was I born to this monotonous task
