The Monument outlasting bronze Was promised well by bards of old; The lucid outline of their lay Its sweet precision keeps for aye, Fixed in the ductile language-gold. But we who work with smaller skill, And less refined material mould,— This close conglomerate English speech, Bequest of many tribes, that each Brought here and wrought at from of old, Residuum rough, eked out by rhyme, Barbarian ornament uncouth,— Our hope is less to last through Art Than deeper searching of the heart, Than broader range of uttered truth. One keen-cut group, one deed or aim Athenian Sophocles could show, And rest content; but Shakespeare’s stage Must hold the glass to every age,— A thousand forms and passions glow Upon the world-wide canvas. So With larger scope our art we ply; And if the crown be harder won, Diviner rays around it run, With strains of fuller harmony.
The Ancient and Modern Muses
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On the East Devon Coast LIE still, old Dane, below thy heap! A sturdy-back and sturdy-limb, Whoe’er he was, I warrant him Upon whose mound the single sheep Browses and tinkles in the sun, Within the narrow vale alone. Lie still, old Dane! This restful scene Suits well thy centuries of... |
The Monument outlasting bronze Was promised well by bards of old; The lucid outline of their lay Its sweet precision keeps for aye, Fixed in the ductile language-gold. But we who work with smaller skill, And less refined material mould,— This close conglomerate English speech, Bequest of... |
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