THE LEADEN HOOF.

What use to puff a blackened fire Grown emberless within the grate? What use to twang a damaged lyre That’s only half articulate? What use for dumb Desire to thumb The leaves of a curriculum When other men matriculate? ’Tis vain to plan a fabric gay With tangled warp and broken woof— Just listen for a moment, pray, —A magpie singing on the roof— Just hear, and then Throw down the pen: The songs and wings of common men Are anchored to a leaden hoof. And yet, are other days, that bear No weight of pessimistic sin— A laurel leaf for me to wear, A thought to stir, a smile to win; And o’er the sea There comes to me The echo of a symphony That sets the smiling world a-spin. Now carmine-hued are Renée’s lips, A thousand gleams light life’s old wine— I tremble to the finger tips To breathe devotion at her shrine; But while I write, Some blasting light Reveals my rose an ashen white That crumbles in these hands of mine. What use to fret a halting brain While inspiration holds aloof? And hark! the voice bursts forth again, —A magpie singing on the roof— Just hear, and then Throw down the pen: The songs and wings of common men Are tethered to a leaden hoof.