Star of the Lyre! a spirit like to thee,
White-burning, close to the high heart of heaven,
We knew; a spirit as clear, with ardors pure
Trembling to every touch of the divine
Serene sphere-music. Such was he, our friend,
Our singer; such is he, though mortal sense
Be sealed.
Now to his name I give this book,
Reverent, as placing on an altar-stone
A gift; though slight, not all unmeet—since he