CHAPTER 1
The Seven-Stringed Mountain Lute
CHAPTER 1Visible text2 paragraphs
"Homer, Sappho, Anacreon, Pindar, Æschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, the
very names are a song. " -- M. C. M.
I knew, no matter how they plucked at me
Like golden fingers -- all those cadenced names --
That never could I answer; for the power
Of their majestic harmonies was perfect flower.
No greater song, nor lovelier verse could be
Unless Greece lived another golden hour.
I tried to echo them. I vainly sought
Timid expression of their rhythmic fire;
My melodies with halting effort caught
Faintly their classic motive and desire.
Yet, while I failed, a miracle was wrought,
Themselves did sing! Thus, humble, I was taught
These names that are the plectrum and the lyre.
Like golden fingers -- all those cadenced names --
That never could I answer; for the power
Of their majestic harmonies was perfect flower.
No greater song, nor lovelier verse could be
Unless Greece lived another golden hour.
I tried to echo them. I vainly sought
Timid expression of their rhythmic fire;
My melodies with halting effort caught
Faintly their classic motive and desire.
Yet, while I failed, a miracle was wrought,
Themselves did sing! Thus, humble, I was taught
These names that are the plectrum and the lyre.