Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/203

Rh All the simple faith has gone Which their world was builded on. Now the moonbeams coldly glance On no gardens of romance ; To prosaic senses dull, Baldur s dead, the Beautiful, Hark, the cry rings overhead, Universal Pan is dead ! ? &quot; &quot; Requiescant ! &quot; Claude’s grave tone Thrilled us strangely. &quot; I am one Who would not restore that Past, Beauty will immortal last, Though the beautiful must die This the ages verify. And had Pan deserved the name Which his votaries misclaim, He were living with us yet. I behold, without regret, Beauty in new forms recast, Truth emerging from the vast, Bright and orbed, like yonder sphere, Making the obscure air clear. He shall be of bards the king, Who, in worthy verse, shall sing All the conquests of the hour, Stealing no fictitious power From the classic types outworn, But his rhythmic line adorn With the marvels of the real. He the baseless feud shall heal