Classic Poem

SET FORTH TO BE SUNG TO THE BASS VIOL IN PRAISE OF M R . B ULLEN HIS EDITION OF THE WORKS OF D R . T HOMAS C AMPION

He comes again!
The latest, not the least desired!
Too long, in mouldering tomes retired,
We sought in vain
Those breathing airs
Which, from his instrument,
Like vocal winds of perfume, blent
To soothe man's piercing cares.

Bullen, well done!
Where Campion lies in London-land,
Lulled by the thunders of the Strand.
Screened from the sun,
Surely there must
Now pass some pleasant gleam
Across his music-haunted dream
Whose brain and lute are dust.