Part 2 — THE BARD.

Why should my anxious heart repine That Wealth and Power can ne'er be mine, And Love has flown— That Friendship changes as the breeze? Mine is a joy unknown to these; In Song's bright zone, To sit by Helicon serene, And hear the waves of Hippocrene Lave Phœbus' throne. Here deathless lyres the strains prolong, That gush from living founts of song, Without a cross; Here spirits never feel the weight Of Wrong, or Envy, or of Hate, Or earthly loss; The pomp of Pelf—the pride of Birth— The gilded trappings of this earth Return to dross. Oh, ye! who would forget the ills Of earth, and all the bosom fills With agony! Come dwell with me in Fancy's dream, Beside this lovely fabled stream Of minstrelsy; And let its draughts celestial roll Into the deep wells of thy soul Eternally. God always sets along the way Of weary souls some beacon ray Of light divine; And only when my spirit's wings Are weary in the quest of springs Of Song, I pine; If I could always heavenward fly, And never earthward turn mine eye, Bliss would be mine.