Classic Poem

Where is that glorious host, of strong and melodious minstrels
Whose inspiring strains ravished the senses of men —
Who could conjure the Gods to earth, waft mortals to heaven,
And exalted the soul to a poetical flight?
Singers indeed there are; 'tis heroic achievements are wanting,
And a receptive ear, lyrical passion to rouse.
Happy ye minstrels of old, when the voices of each generation
Passed your stories down to generations unknown.
Welcoming him as a God, the world devoutly accepted
What his genius bore, what he created and taught.
By the romance of his song was kindled the listener's ardour,
And the emotion aroused fed the poetical fire —
Fed it, and also purged! Ah, fortunate he, that a people
With universal acclaim joyfully echoed his lay,
And that here in the world existed a spirit to aid him,
Such as a bard of to-day scarce can awake in his heart.