Ah, smile not at his fond conceit,
Nor deem his fancy wrought in vain;
To him the unreal sounds are sweet,
No discord mars the silent strain
Scored on life's latest, starlit page
The voiceless melody of age.
Sweet are the lips of all that sing,
When Nature's music breathes unsought,
But never yet could voice or string
So truly shape our tenderest thought,
As when by life's decaying fire
Our fingers sweep the stringless lyre!
Though entirely different in style, Bill and Joe is another of those heart-reaching, tear-starting poems.
Listen, for instance, to these few verses:
Come, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by;
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew,
The lusty days of long ago
When you were Bill and I was Joe.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;
A few swift years and who can show
Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe?
The weary idol takes his stand,
Holds out his bruised and aching hand,
While gaping thousands come and go,—
How vain it seems, his empty show!
Till all at once his pulses thrill:
'Tis poor old Joe's God bless you, Bill!
The earlier poems of Doctor Holmes are frequently written in the favorite measures of Pope and Hood. This is not at all strange when we remember that in the boyhood of Doctor Holmes these two poets were the most popular of all the English bards. In his later poems, however, we find an endless variety of rhythms, and the careful reader will notice in every instance, a wonderful adaptation of the various poetical forms to the particular thought the poet wishes to convey.