Part 27 (1/2)

II.

Ah, thou unhappy stone, Make now thy sorrows known; Make known thy longing.

Thou art the form of one Whom I, with hopes undone, Buried at set of sun,-- All the friends thronging.

III.

Thou art some Vision bright Lost out of Heaven at night, Far from thy race.

Oft when the others dance, Come I, with wistful glance, Fearful lest thou, perchance, Leave the dark place.

IV.

No! thou wilt never flee, Earth has a charm for thee;-- Why should we sever?

Years have I seen thee so, Making pretence to go, Lifting thine arms of snow,-- Voiceless for ever!

V.

Here bring I all my cares, Here dream and say my prayers While the bells toll.

O thou beloved saint!

Let not my courage faint, Let not a shame, or taint, Injure my soul!

PABLO DE SARASATE.

I.

Who comes, to-day, with sunlight on his face, And eyes of fire, that have a sorrow's trace, But are not sad with sadness of the years, Or hints of tears?

II.

He is a king, or I mistake the sign, A king of song,--a comrade of the Nine,-- The Muses' brother, and their youngest one, This side the sun.

III.

See how he bends to greet his soul's desire, His violin, which trembles like a lyre, And seems to trust him, and to know his touch, Belov'd so much!

IV.

He stands full height; he draws it to his breast, Like one, in joy, who takes a wonder-guest,-- A weird, wild thing, bewitched from end to end,-- To be his friend.