'THAT same first fiddler who leads the orchestra to-night Here fiddled four decades of years ago; He bears the same babe-like smile of self-centred delight, Same trinket on watch-chain, same ring on the hand with the bow. 'But his face, if regarded, is woefully wanner, and drier, And his once dark beard has grown straggling and gray; Yet a blissful existence he seems to have led with his lyre, In a trance of his own, where no wearing or tearing had sway. 'Mid these wax figures, who nothing can do, it may seem That to do but a little thing counts a great deal; To be watched by kings, councillors, queens, may be flattering to him - With their glass eyes longing they too could wake notes that appeal.' Ah, but he played staunchly - that fiddler - whoever he was, With the innocent heart and the soul-touching string: May he find the Fair Haven! For did he not smile with good cause? Yes; gamuts that graced forty years'-flight were not a small thing! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WOLF AND THE DOG by JEAN DE LA FONTAINE THE WHITE CITY by CLAUDE MCKAY DE RERUM NATURA: BOOK 3. AGAINST THE FEAR OF DEATH by TITUS LUCRETIUS CARUS THE LOVER TO THE THAMES OF LONDON TO FAVOUR HIS LADY ... by GEORGE TURBERVILLE ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA by HENRY WOTTON |