And as, in that same fable I have quoted, It is of that town-making artist noted, That, where he leaned his lyre upon a stone, The stone stole somewhat of that lovely tone, And afterwards each untaught passer-by, By touching it, could rouse the melody,-- Even thus a heart once by your music thrilled, An ear which your delightful voice has filled, In memory a talisman have found To repel many a dull, harsh, after-sound; And, as the music lingered in the stone, After the minstrel and the lyre were gone, Even so my thoughts and wishes, turned to sweetness, Lend to the heavy hours unwonted fleetness; And common objects, calling up the tone, I caught from you, wake beauty not their own. SISTRUM.[48] Triune, shaping, restless power, Life-flow from life's natal hour, No music chords are in thy sound; By some thou'rt but a rattle found; Yet, without thy ceaseless motion, To ice would turn their dead devotion. Life-flow of my natal hour, I will not weary of thy power, Till in the changes of thy sound A chord's three parts distinct are found. I will faithful move with thee, God-ordered, self-fed energy. Nature in eternity. IMPERFECT THOUGHTS. The peasant boy watches the midnight sky; He sees the meteor dropping from on high; He hastens whither the bright guest hath flown, And finds--a mass of black, unseemly stone. Disdainful, disappointed, turns he home. If a philosopher that way had come, He would have seized the waif with great delight, And honored it as an aerolite. But truly it would need a Cuvier's mind High meaning in _my_ meteors to find. Well, in my museum there is room to spare-- I'll let them stay till Cuvier goes there! SADNESS. Lonely lady, tell me why That abandonment of eye? Life is full, and nature fair; How canst thou dream of dull despair? Life is full and nature fair; A dull folly is despair; But the heart lies still and tame For want of what it may not claim. Lady, chide that foolish heart, And bid it act a nobler part; The love thou couldst be bid resign Never could be worthy thine. O, I know, and knew it well, How unworthy was the spell In its silken band to bind My heaven-born, heaven-seeking mind. Thou lonely moon, thou knowest well Why I yielded to the spell; Just so thou didst condescend Thy own precept to offend. When wondering nymphs thee questioned why That abandonment of eye, Crying, "Dian,[49] heaven's queen, What can that trembling eyelash mean?" Waning, over ocean's breast, Thou didst strive to hide unrest From the question of their eyes, Unseeing in their dull surprise. Thy Endymion had grown old; Thy only love was marred with cold; No longer to the secret cave Thy ray could pierce, and answer have.