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Dante.
by Eric MackayDante.
He liv'd and lov'd; he suffer'd; he was poor;
But he was gifted with the gifts of Heaven,
And those of all the week-days that are seven,
And those of all the centuries that endure.
He bow'd to none; he kept his honour sure.
He follow'd in the wake of those Eleven
Who walk'd with Christ, and lifted up his steven[A]
To keep the bulwarks of his faith secure.
He knew the secrets of the singing-time;
He track'd the sun; he ate the luscious fruit
Of grief and joy; and with his wonder-lute
He made himself a name in every clime.
The minds of men were madly stricken mute
And all the world lay subject to his rhyme!
[A] Steven, a voice; old word revived.