Canto XXXVII

Urania speaks with darken'd brow:

      'Thou pratest here where thou art least;

      This faith has many a purer priest,

And many an abler voice than thou:

Go down beside thy native rill,

      On thy Parnassus set thy feet,

      And hear thy laurel whisper sweet

About the ledges of the hill.'

And my Melpomene replies,

      A touch of shame upon her cheek:

      'I am not worthy but to speak

Of thy prevailing mysteries;

For I am but an earthly Muse,

      And owning but a little art

      To lull with song an aching heart,

And render human love his dues;

But brooding on the dear one dead,

      And all he said of things divine,

      (And dear as sacramental wine

To dying lips is all he said).

I murmur'd, as I came along,

      Of comfort clasp'd in truth reveal'd;

      And loiter'd in the master's field,

And darken'd sanctities with song.'