Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/254

226 One whom the poet's singing

Had lured from death,

Joy to the crusht soul bringing

And heaven's breath;

Came to him once in an hour

Of terror and stress,

And cried, "Thou alone hast power

To save me and bless;

Thou alone, pure heart and free,

Canst pluck from disaster,

If to a wretch like me

Thou wilt stoop, O master!"

Answered the bard with shame,

And sorrow and trembling:

Was I false, was my song to blame?

Was my art dissembling?

I of all mortals the saddest,

The quickest to fall,

And song of mine highest and gladdest

Repentance all!"

BARDS

from books resound their rhymes—

Set them ringing with a faint,

Sorrowful, and sweet, and quaint

Memory of the olden times,

Like the sound of evening chimes.

Some go wandering on their way

Through the forest, past the herds,

Laughing maidens, singing birds;

On their sylvan lutes they play—

Danceth by the lyric Day!