Page:The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884).djvu/434

 STRADIVARIUS.

OUR soul was lifted by the wings to-day- Hearing the master of the violin : You praised him, praised the great Sebastian too Who made that fine Chaconne ; but did you think Of old Antonio Stradivari ? — him Who a good century and half ago Put his true work in that brown instrument And by the nice adjustment of its frame Gave it responsive life, continuous With the master's finger-tips and perfected Like them by delicate rectitude of use. Not Bach alone, helped by fine precedent Of genius gone before, nor Joachim Who holds the strain afresh incorporate By inward hearing and notation strict Of nerve and muscle, made our joy to-day : Another soul was living in the air And swaying it to true deliverance Of high invention and responsive skill : That plain white-aproned man who stood at work Patient and accurate full fourscore years, Cherished his sight and touch by temperance, And since keen sense is love of perfectness Made perfect violins, the needed paths For inspiration and high mastery.

No simpler man than he : he never cried, "Why was I born to this monotonous task