Text
FORGOTTEN seers of lost repute
That haunt the banks of Acheron,
Where have you dropped the broken lute
You played in Troy or Calydon ?
O ye that sang in Babylon
By foreign willows cold and grey,
Fall'n are the harps ye hanged thereon,
Dead are the tunes of yesterday !
De Coucy, is your music mute,
The quaint old plain-chant woe-begone
That served so many a lover's suit ?
Oh, dead as Adam or Guédron !
Then, sweet De Caurroy, try upon
Your virginals a virelay ;
Or play, Orlando, one pavonne—
Dead are the tunes of yesterday !
But ye whose praises none refute,
Who have the immortal laurel won ;—
Trill me your quavering close acute,
Astorga, dear unhappy Don !
One air, Galuppi! Sarti, one
So many fingers used to play !—
Dead as the ladies of Villon,
Dead are the tunes of yesterday !
Envoy.
Vernon, in vain you stoop to con
The slender, faded notes to-day—
The Soul that dwelt in them is gone :
Dead are the tunes of yesterday !
Page numbers in original volume
67-68