Classic Poem

III.—SANTLEY .

The northern blood that courses through thy frame
 Is warm and passionate with a southern fire,
 And ever prompt to strengthen and inspire
The nobler efforts which thy soul could claim.

We feel its subtle presence, and admire
 Thy march triumphant from an artist's aim
 Up to the distant, dizzy heights of Fame,
Thy goal, thy ultimatum, thy desire!

Yea, and thou hast not swerved, thou hast not turned;
 Straight to the end over the cheerless ground
  Thou hast made progress worthy of thy dream,
And now, when stragglers on Art's path are spurned,
 Thou standest resolute with thy laurels crowned,
  And, of thy future, arbiter supreme!