We Read in Books of Ancient Lore

We read in books of ancient lore,
An image stood in days of yore,
Which, when the sun with splendour dight
Cast on its lips his golden light,
Those lips gave back a silver sound,
Which fill'd for hours the waste around :
But when again the living blaze
Withdrew its music-waking rays,
Or passing clouds its splendour veil'd,
Or evening shades its face conceal'd,
This image stood all silent there,
Nor lent one whisper to the air.
This was of old — And even now,
The man who lives in fortune's glow
Bears off the palm of sense and knowledge
In town and country, court and college;
And all assert nem. con. whatever
Comes from his mouth is vastly clever :
But when the glowing sun retires,
His reign is o'er, and dimm'd his fires;
And all his praise like vapour flies, —
For who e'er calls a poor man wise ?