These living wonders with the world are shar'd!
Can hoary Time, whose stern, unyielding rod
Impartial rules the mortal and the god,
Whose deathless might Sardathrion's towers o'erthrew,
And Babylonia's matchless splendour slew,
Tell by what art our poet tunes his lays
With nobler beauty thro' increasing days?
Can we not fancy that the stainless heart
Throbs with the rhythm of Nature's ev'ry part;
Each light-flown year in closer bonds ally'd,
Till the blest spirit joins the cosmic tide?
Thus the sweet song superior timbre gains,
And with long years achieves sublimer strains;
Blends with the chant of worlds beyond our sight,
And rides the aether in perpetual light:
The singer, one with harmonies of heav'n,
Not age, but youth, by grateful Time, is given!
So, Scriba, may unnumber'd honours crown
Thy golden years, and swell thy glad renown;
May a kind world spontaneous homage pay,
And ev'ry hearer praise thy potent lay.
Eighty and nine the years that lightly rest
Upon thy brow, by smiling Muses blest;
Yet may we hope that all thy joys before
Are less than what the future holds in store!
H. P. Lovecraft.
Can hoary Time, whose stern, unyielding rod
Impartial rules the mortal and the god,
Whose deathless might Sardathrion's towers o'erthrew,
And Babylonia's matchless splendour slew,
Tell by what art our poet tunes his lays
With nobler beauty thro' increasing days?
Can we not fancy that the stainless heart
Throbs with the rhythm of Nature's ev'ry part;
Each light-flown year in closer bonds ally'd,
Till the blest spirit joins the cosmic tide?
Thus the sweet song superior timbre gains,
And with long years achieves sublimer strains;
Blends with the chant of worlds beyond our sight,
And rides the aether in perpetual light:
The singer, one with harmonies of heav'n,
Not age, but youth, by grateful Time, is given!
So, Scriba, may unnumber'd honours crown
Thy golden years, and swell thy glad renown;
May a kind world spontaneous homage pay,
And ev'ry hearer praise thy potent lay.
Eighty and nine the years that lightly rest
Upon thy brow, by smiling Muses blest;
Yet may we hope that all thy joys before
Are less than what the future holds in store!
H. P. Lovecraft.
To Mr. Hoag
On His Ninetieth Birthday, February 10, 1921
As on the flow'ry Latmian crest
Endymion ever young reposes,
With crystal dreams by Phoebe bless'd,
And wreath'd in never-dying roses;
So, Scriba, thou, whose poet-eyes
Have dwelt aloft in raptures rarest,
And won like favours from the skies,
At ninety still youth's garland wearest!
Endymion ever young reposes,
With crystal dreams by Phoebe bless'd,
And wreath'd in never-dying roses;
So, Scriba, thou, whose poet-eyes
Have dwelt aloft in raptures rarest,
And won like favours from the skies,
At ninety still youth's garland wearest!
Methinks I see thee where the moon
On faery slopes sends down her splendour;
That realm of sempiternal June,
Peopled by fauns and oreads tender,
Which sleeps unalter'd and unvex'd,
Tho' with vast ills and changes direst
The world of waking be perplexed—
That fancy-heaven of the lyrist!
On faery slopes sends down her splendour;
That realm of sempiternal June,
Peopled by fauns and oreads tender,
Which sleeps unalter'd and unvex'd,
Tho' with vast ills and changes direst
The world of waking be perplexed—
That fancy-heaven of the lyrist!
In such an aether dost thou dream
Irradiate traceries to hear hither,
Rewarded by the boon supreme—
A spirit that may never wither;
The years float by caressingly,
Bestowing gifts but never robbing;
And now the ninetieth leaves thee free,
Thy heart with youthful ardor throbbing.
Irradiate traceries to hear hither,
Rewarded by the boon supreme—
A spirit that may never wither;
The years float by caressingly,
Bestowing gifts but never robbing;
And now the ninetieth leaves thee free,
Thy heart with youthful ardor throbbing.
65
