In truth from the music master,
By repetition oft and untrained throats—
To hearers, near disaster.
The master’s whence, the singing pioneer,
Great Haydn or Beethoven?
Sing on, my thrilling thrush, but wilt thou hear?
From thee, and thou from Heaven!
Long hours I’ve listened lone, in deep delight,
To thy glad musicals;
And when I breathe my last, O anchorite,