And I recall with long-unfelt desire
The realm of spirits, solemn, still, serene;
My faltering lay, like the Æolian lyre,
Gives wavering tones with many a pause between;
The stern heart glows with youth’s rekindled fire,
Tear follows tear, where long no tear hath been;
The thing I am fades into distance grey;
And the pale Past stands out a clear to-day.
PRELUDE AT THE THEATRE.
Manager of a Strolling Company.—Stage-poet—Merryfellow.