XXXVII

Urania speaks with darkened brow:
" Thou pratest here where thou art least;
This faith has many a purer priest,
And many an abler voice than thou.

" Go down beside thy native rill,
On thy Parnassus set thy feet,
And hear thy laurel whisper sweet
About the ledges of the hill."

And my Melpomene replies,
A touch of shame upon her cheek:
" I am not worthy even to speak
Of thy prevailing mysteries;

" For I am but an earthly Muse,
And owning but a little art
To lull with song an aching heart,
And render human love his dues;

" But brooding on the dear one dead,
And all he said of things divine,
(And dear to me as sacred wine
To dying lips is all he said),

" I murmured, as I came along,
Of comfort clasped in truth revealed;
And loitered in the master's field,
And darkened sanctities with song."