full fain
He could recall an ancient strain
He never thought to sing again.
It was not framed for village churls,
But for high dames and mighty earls;
He'd play'd it to King Charles the Good,
When he kept Court at Holyrood;
And much he wish'd, yet fear'd, to try
The long-forgotten melody.
Amid the strings his fingers stray'd,
And an uncertain warbling made,
And oft he shook his hoary head.
But when he caught the measure wild
The old man raised his face, and smiled;
And lighten'd up his faded eye,
With all a poet's ecstasy!
In varying cadence, soft or strong,
He swept the sounding chords along;
The present scene, the future lot,
His toils, his wants, were all forgot;
Cold diffidence and age's frost
In the full tide of song were lost;
Each blank in faithless memory void
The poet's glowing thought supplied;
And, while his harp responsive rung,
'Twas thus the latest minstrel sung.

* * * * *

Here paused the harp; and with its swell
The master's fire and courage fell;
Dejectedly and low he bow'd,
And, gazing timid on the crowd,
He seem'd to seek in every eye
If they approved his minstrelsy;
And, diffident of present praise,
Somewhat he spoke of former days,
And how old age, and wandering long,
Had done his hand and harp some wrong."

These lines hardly illustrate, I think, the particular form of Mr.
Pitt's criticism, for a quick succession of fine shades of feeling of
this kind could never have been delineated in a painting, or indeed in
a series of paintings, at all, while they _are_ so given in the poem.
But the praise itself, if not its exact form, is amply deserved. The
singular depth of the romantic glow in this passage, and its equally
singular simplicity,--a simplicity which makes it intelligible to
every one,--are conspicuous to every reader. It is not what is called
classical poetry, for there is no severe outline,--no sculptured
completeness and repose,--no satisfying wholeness of effect to the eye
of the mind,--no embodiment of a great action. The poet gives us a
breath, a ripple of alternating fear and hope in the heart of an old
man, and that is all. He catches an emotion that had its roots deep in
the past, and that is striving onward towards something in the
future;--he traces the wistfulness and self-distrust with which ag