Page:Frederic Rowton on Landon.pdf/21

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Thy song around our daily path Flung beauty born of dreams, And scattered o'er the actual world The spirit's sunny gleams. Mysterious influence, that to earth Brings down the heaven above, And fills the universal heart With universal love.

Such gifts were thine,—as from the block The unformed and the cold, The sculptor calls to breathing life Some shape of perfect mould, So thou from common thoughts and things Didst call a charmed song, Which on a sweet and swelling tide Bore the full soul along.

And thou from far and foreign lands Didst bring back many a tone, And giving such new music still, A music of thine own. A lofty strain of generous thoughts, And yet subdued and sweet,— An angel's song, who sings of earth, Whose cares are at his feet.

And yet thy song is sorrowful, Its beauty is not bloom; The hopes of which it breathes, are hopes That look beyond the tomb. Thy song is sorrowful as winds That wander o'er the plain, And ask for summer's vanish'd flowers, And ask for them in vain.

Ah! dearly purchased is the gift, The gift of song like thine;