Shapes of Clay

Daughter of God! Audacity divine—

Of clowns the terror and of brains the sign—

Not thou the inspirer of the rushing fool,

Not thine of idiots the vocal drool:

Thy bastard sister of the brow of brass,

Presumption, actuates the charging ass.

Sky-born Audacity! of thee who sings

Should strike with freer hand than mine the strings;

The notes should mount on pinions true and strong,

For thou, the subject shouldst sustain the song,

Till angels lean from Heaven, a breathless throng!

Alas! with reeling heads and wavering tails,

They (notes, not angels) drop and the hymn fails;

The minstrel's tender fingers and his thumbs

Are torn to rags upon the lyre he strums.

Have done! the lofty thesis makes demand

For stronger voices and a harder hand:

Night-howling apes to make the notes aspire,

And Poet Riley's fist to slug the rebel wire!