THE BARD'S FAREWELL.
BY JOHN C. MCCABE.
Sweet Muse, I remember, when first to thy spell
My young heart submitted—how bright was the dream!
How I trembled with joy as thy murmurings fell
On my ear, like the flow of a star-litten stream!
This world is too cold for the spirit of song,
'Tis the child of a purer and holier sphere;
It should live where oppression, nor malice, nor wrong,
Dare wring from the dim eye of misery a tear.
It should dwell where 'twas born—in the deeply blue skies,
When from chaos our world sprang to beauty and light;
When the “stars of the morning” in joyous surprise,
Struck their harp strings of fire so holy and bright.
It should dwell where the Cherubim strike their bold lyres—
It should live where the Seraphim songs find their birth;
It should breathe where the presence of Godhead inspires,
But never, oh never, be dweller on earth.
For the heart where it lives is cold poverty's slave,
And those whom it blesses, are curst by the world;
And its votary unhonored is borne to that grave
At whose mound are the dark shafts of calumny hurl'd.
Then, farewell, dear soother of many an hour!
And, farewell sweet visions indulged in so long,
Like the banish'd bird quitting its favorite bower,
I leave yet lament thee, sweet spirit of song!
Richmond, Va. 1836.