To Homer
All down the years thy tale has rolled—
A brilliant streak of burnished gold
Old Homer, near we seem to thee,
As roving over vale and sea
Thou tellest of thy hero bold!
For we too wonder, as of old
Thy hero did. The fates are doled
To us the same, both serf and free,
All down the years.
None other yet has ever told
So sweet a tale; as we unfold
Thy mystic page we find the key
Of human sorrow, guilt and glee,
Which ever comes our souls to mould
All down the years.
John Malcolm Bulloch.