Classic Poem

Thou art the Ashton of Gaetano's mind;
Thou art the real Chevreuse his fancy sought;
Thy heart knows well his heart, thy thought his thought;
His inspiration in thy voice we find.

New laurels for his fame thine art can bind,
The value of his genius thou hast taught;
His subtlest meaning thou hast ably wrought,
And in thy soul his memory is enshrined.

With firmest feet thou tread'st the path of fame,
Charming all men by thy prodigious art,
But still a vast regret o'erfills my heart,
Wherein I hear the praises of thy name,
For Donizetti, dead, can not rejoice
And marvel at the glory of thy voice!