For he was chief of bards that swell
The heart with songs of social flame,
And high delicious revelry.
And Love’s own strain to him was given,
To warble all its ecstasies
With Pythian words unsought, unwilled—
Love, the surviving gift of Heaven,
The choicest sweet of Paradise,
In life’s else bitter cup distilled.
Who that has melted o’er his lay