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THE statue at Thebes, in the shade mute as
doom, Gave musical strains when the morn-light shone o'er; So the Nation, once silent as Memnon in gloom, Trilled forth tuneful plaints in the sunshine of Moore. His verse lent the rays that relumine her glory, His lyrics the voice still reciting her praise; And their heart-thrilling themes yet revive her gone story - Her mirth and her melody live in his lays. An Æolian harp on a banyan bough pending, His Muse and sweet numbers were wafted above; But his soul, to the soil, like the banyan tree bending Bore her best notes again to the Isle of his love. 'Twas no monochord music he rendered alone, For each lyre-string sang her renown and her wrong: Famed Amphion raised Thebes by his harp's magic tone - Moore exalted the land by the spell of his song. |
| THE MUSE OF ISRAEL | CONTENTS | OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES |
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