'THAT same first fiddler who leads the orchestra to-night Here fiddled four decades of years ago; He bears the same babe-like smile of self-centred delight, Same trinket on watch-chain, same ring on the hand with the bow. 'But his face, if regarded, is woefully wanner, and drier, And his once dark beard has grown straggling and gray; Yet a blissful existence he seems to have led with his lyre, In a trance of his own, where no wearing or tearing had sway. 'Mid these wax figures, who nothing can do, it may seem That to do but a little thing counts a great deal; To be watched by kings, councillors, queens, may be flattering to him - With their glass eyes longing they too could wake notes that appeal.' Ah, but he played staunchly - that fiddler - whoever he was, With the innocent heart and the soul-touching string: May he find the Fair Haven! For did he not smile with good cause? Yes; gamuts that graced forty years'-flight were not a small thing! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIVE KERNELS OF CORN [APRIL, 1622] by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH PATIENCE by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE A NYMPH'S PASSION by BEN JONSON THE GRASSHOPPER; TO MY NOBLE FRIEND MR. CHARLES COTTON by RICHARD LOVELACE THE SHADOW DANCE by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON DE RERUM NATURA: BOOK 3. AGAINST THE FEAR OF DEATH by TITUS LUCRETIUS CARUS |