Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/221

AD VATEM Thou sangest her always in abiding verse

And hast thy fame immortal—as we say

Immortal in this Earth that yet must die,

And in this land now fairest and most young

Of all fair lands that yet must perish with it.

Thy words shall last: albeit thou growest old,

Men say; but never old the poet's soul

Becomes; only its covering takes on

A reverend splendor, as in the misty fall

Thine own auroral forests, ere at last

Passes the spirit of the wooded dell.

And stay thou with us long; vouchsafe us long

This brave autumnal presence, ere the hues

Slow fading,—ere the quaver of thy voice,

The twilight of thine eye, move men to ask

Where hides the chariot,—in what sunset vale,

Beyond thy chosen river, champ the steeds

That wait to bear thee skyward? Since we too

Would feign thee, in our tenderness, to be

Inviolate, excepted from thy kind,

And that our bard and prophet best-beloved

Shall vanish like that other: him that stood

Undaunted in the pleasure-house of kings,

And unto kings and crownèd harlots spake

God's truth and judgment. At his sacred feet

Far followed all the lesser men of old

Whose lips were touched with fire, and caught from him

The gift of prophecy; and thus from thee,

Whittier, the younger singers,—whom thou seest

Each emulous to be thy staff this day,—

What learned they? righteous anger, burning scorn

Of the oppressor, love to humankind,

Sweet fealty to country and to home,

Peace, stainless purity, high thoughts of heaven,

And the clear, natural music of thy song.

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