Amid the silent dead!

The Blind Musician.

He touched his flute by the lone inn door,

And artless were all the sounds he drew;

But mid the notes of that simple lay

The deep delight of his soul breathed through.

The earth for him had no robes of light,

No gorgeous scenes to exalt his mind;

No bright summer clouds or sunset skies

To melt his spirit—for he was blind!