| OCR Text |
Show LYRA INCANTATA. <br><br> Within a castle haunted as castles were of old. There hung a harp enchanted, And on its rim of gold This legend was enscrolled : "Whatever bard would win me Must strike and wake within me, My one supreme endeavor, A chord that sounds forever." Three bards of lyre and viol, By mandate of the King, Were bidden to a trial To find the magic string (If there be such a thing), Then, after much essaying of tuning, came the playing; And lords and ladies splendid Watched as those bards contended. The first, a minstrel hoary, Who many a rhyme had spun, Sung loud of war and glory; Of battle fought and won; But when his song was done, Although the bard was landed, And clapping hands applauded. Yet, spite of the laudation, The harp ceased its vibration. The second changed the measure, And turned from fire and sword To sing a song of pleasure, The wine cup and the board, Till, at the wit, all roared, And the high hall rebounded, With merriment unbounded The harp - loud as the laughter - Grew hushed as that, soon after. The third, in lover's fashion And with his soul on fire, then sang of love's pure passion - The heart and its desire And, as he smote the wire, The listeners, gathering round him, Caught up a wreath and crowned him. The crown - hath faded never The harp resounds forever. <br><br> -Theodore Tilton, in University Magazine. |
