VII.

Shall from the shades another Orpheus rise Sweeping with venturous hand the vocal string, Kindle glad raptures, visions of surprise, And wake to ecstacy each slumberous thing; Flash life and thought anew in wondering eyes, As when our seer transcendent, sweet, and wise, World-wide his native melodies did sing, Flushed with fair hopes and ancient memories? Ah, no! his matchless lyre must silent lie, None hath the vanished minstrel’s wondrous skill To touch that instrument with art and will; With him winged Poesy doth droop and die, While our dull age, left voiceless, with sad eye Follows his flight to groves of song on high.