Page:The songs that Quinte sang.djvu/16

12 And some have chided me, because
 * The songs I love to write are sad,

They bid me sing in blither strains
 * And make the world more glad.

I heed them not, the harp responds
 * Unto my touch with plaintive ring

And, like the birds, I sing the songs
 * That God hath bid me sing.

If every bird sang as the lark
 * Their blithesome notes would mock the ear,

The thrush’s song is not less sweet,
 * Although we weep to hear.

And though we love the sunshine well
 * We would not have it always day,

Man soon would weary were his life
 * One ceaseless roundelay.

You will not chide my mournful songs
 * O kindly friends of bygone years!

Because you know my early days
 * Knew less of smiles than tears.

And whether critics praise or blame
 * I know that loving eyes will note

And kindly voices praise the songs
 * For love of her who wrote.

Let greater poets strive for bays,
 * My heart would throb with truer pride

At one kind word of honest praise
 * From friends by Quinte’s side.