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So that when (Ah joy !) our singer
For his truant string
What does cricket else but fling
Ay and, ever to the ending,
Cricket chirps at need, Executes the hand's intending,
Promptly, perfectly, — indeed Saves the singer from defeat With her chirrup low and sweet.
Till, at ending, all the judges
Cry with one assent « Take the prize - a prize who grudges
Such a voice and instrument? Why, we took your lyre for harp, So it shrilled us forth F sharp!”
Did the conqueror spurn the creature,
Once its service done?
In the case when Music's son
St. 11. when Music's son, etc. : a fling at Goethe.
No! This other, on returning
Homeward, prize in hand, Satisfied his bosom's yearning :
(Sir, I hope you understand !) - Said “ Some record there must be Of this cricket's help to me!”
Marble stood, life-size ;
Perched his partner in the prize ;
Somebody I know
Through his poetry that's — Oh,
15. If he gains one, will some ticket,
When his statue's built, Tell the gazer
“ 'Twas a cricket Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt Sweet and low, when strength usurped Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped?
16. “For as victory was nighest,
While I sang and played,
With my lyre at lowest, highest,
Right alike, one string that made * Love' sound soft was snapt in twain, Never to be heard again, –
17. “ Had not a kind cricket fluttered,
Perched upon the place
Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass
18. But you
don't know music! Wherefore Keep on casting pearls To a - poet? All I care for
Is — to tell him that a girl's “Love"
comes aptly in when gruff Grows his singing. (There, enough !)
What is he buzzing in my ears?
“ Now that I come to die, Do I view the world as a vale of tears?
Ah, reverend sir, not I !
What I viewed there once, what I view again
Where the physic bottles stand
With a wall to my bedside hand.
To mine, it serves for the old June weather
Blue above lane and wall;
Is the house o'er-topping all.
What right had a lounger up their lane?
But, by creeping very close, With the good wall's help, — their eyes might strain
And stretch themselves to Oes,
Yet never catch her and me together,
As she left the attic, there,
And stole from stair to stair,
9. And stood by the rose-wreathed gate.
We loved, sir used to meet : How sad and bad and mad it was —
But then, how it was sweet !
DEAR, had the world in its caprice
Deigned to proclaim " I know you both,
Have recognized your plighted troth, Am sponsor for you : live in peace!” How many precious months and years
Of youth had passed, that speed so fast,
Before we found it out at last, The world, and what it fears ?
How much of priceless life were spent
With men that every virtue decks,
Through wind and rain, and watch the Seine,
And feel the Boulevart break again To warmth and light and bliss ?
3. I know! the world proscribes not love;
Allows my finger to caress
Your lips' contour and downiness, Provided it supply a glove.