Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Modest and shy as a nun is she; Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Nice good wife, that never goes out, Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Robert of Lincoln at length is made Spink, spank, spink; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Summer wanes; the children are grown; Spink, spank, spink; When you can pipe that merry old strain, THE POET THOU, who wouldst wear the name Of poet mid thy brethren of mankind, And clothe in words of flame Thoughts that shall live within the general mind! Deem not the framing of a deathless lay The pastime of a drowsy summer day. But gather all thy powers, And wreak them on the verse that thou dost weave, And in thy lonely hours, At silent morning or at wakeful eve, Set forth the burning words in fluent strains. While the warm current tingles through thy veins, 5 10 No smooth array of phrase, Artfully sought and ordered though it be, Upon his page with languid industry, The secret wouldst thou know 15 To touch the heart or fire the blood at will? 20 Let thine own eyes o'erflow; Let thy lips quiver with the passionate thrill; Seize the great thought, ere yet its power be past, And bind, in words, the fleet emotion fast. Then, should thy verse appear Halting and harsh, and all unaptly wrought, 25 Touch the crude line with fear, Save in the moment of impassioned thought; Then summon back the original glow, and mend The strain with rapture that with fire was penned.° Yet let no empty gust Of passion find an utterance in thy lay, A blast that whirls the dust Along the howling street and dies away; But feelings of calm power and mighty sweep, 30 35 Like currents journeying through the windless deep. To limn the beauty of the earth and sky? Before thine inner gaze 40 Seek'st thou, in living lays, Let all that beauty in clear vision lie; Look on it with exceeding love, and write The words inspired by wonder and delight. Of tempests wouldst thou sing, Or tell of battles - make thyself a part Of the great tumult; cling To the tossed wreck with terror in thy heart; Scale, with the assaulting host, the rampart's height, And strike and struggle in the thickest fight. So shalt thou frame a lay That haply may endure from age to age, And they who read shall say: "What witchery hangs upon this poet's page! What art is his the written spells to find 45 50 ABRAHAM LINCOLN OH, slow to smite and swift to spare, In sorrow by thy bier we stand, Thy task is done; the bond are free: Pure was thy life; its bloody close Hath placed thee with the sons of light, Among the noble host of those Who perished in the cause of Right. 5 10 15 |