Inscribed by a Singer TO HIS FRIEND, MANUEL RODRIGUEZ GARCIA. LET critics court me with commendance bland, Or let them carp and cavil as they may: Not sedulous to pluck th' enduring bay, What reck I if my name be writ on sand? 'Mid rude upheavings of a scowling strand, And in the wild mists of its tossing spray, On life's bleak shores, I have rehearst my lay, And strike my lyre with no uncertain hand. But could this name or pow'r or grace impart To aid these whisper'd strains, while here I sing ; How pure their aim! how perfect were their art! What echoes deep the sounding chords would bring!— E'en faintest reflex of thy mind and heart As trebled sweetness to the silver string! DIONE. DEEP in the shadows of the Phocian hills, And washt by lustral dews of Castaly, Rose the white ramparts of the Delphic Fane, Close compassing the mighty masonry, Dom'd by the fretted gold of sunset skies ; 4 B |