With many a word of kindly cheer,— In pity half, and half sincere,— Marvelled the Duchess how so well His legendary song could tell Of ancient deeds, so long forgot; Of feuds, whose memory was not; Of forests, now laid waste and bare; Of towers, which harbour now the hare; So long had slept, that fickle Fame Had blotted from her rolls their name, And twined round some new minion's head The fading wreath for which they bled; In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse Could call them from their marble hearse. The Harper smiled, well-pleased; for ne'er Was flattery lost on poet's ear: A simple race! they waste their toil For the vain tribute of a smile; E'en when in age their flame expires, Her dulcet breath can fan its fires: Their drooping fancy wakes at praise, And strives to trim the short-lived blaze. Smiled then, well pleased, the Aged Man, And thus his tale continued ran. |