How sweet the cadence of his lyre...

How sweet the cadence of his lyre!

What melody of words!

They strike a pulse within the heart

Like songs of forest-birds,

Or tinkling of the shepherd's bell

Among the mountain-herds.

His mind's a cultured garden,

Where Nature's hand has sown

The flower-seeds of poesy —

And they have freshly grown,

Imbued with beauty and perfume

To other plants unknown.

A bright career's before him —

All tongues pronounce his praise;

All hearts his inspiration feel,

And will in after-days;

For genius breathes in every line

Of his soul-thrilling lays.

A nameless grace is round him —

A something, too refined

To be described, yet must be felt

By all of human kind —

An emanation of the soul,

That can not be defined.