POETRY.
THE OLD POET.
1In memory of Richard Wilton, poet and divine; born 1827; died August 10th,
1903.]
LET OW unrestful spirits pay The homage of a sigh to one, The poet of an older day,
A happier generation gone. Wearied with melody distraught, The art too conscious to be great, We learn to prize a limpid thought In setting care and delicate; A music not of many moods ; The clear reflection of a mind, Of fresh and fragrant solitudes The foot of Change could never find.
The witness of a faith matured In ancient sunshine, full of days; Holy and leisured, calm, assured, That filled a quiet life with praise.
A faith that yet was no recluse ; A joy not only such as sings In numbers, but a daily use Of pleasure in created things.
The Muse his masters wooed of old His lute with pensive finger strung ; But we, who knew the singer, hold His life the sweetest song he sung.
A. M. NEWTON.
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