128. EBB to Alfred Moulton-Barrett

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 1, 124.

Ode

To my dearest Alfred

On his birthday. Hope End May

20th 1821. [1]

_________

Air was all quiet—and the lute

Upon the silent breezes slept–

Those flowing notes were still, and mute,

And one might deem that Echo wept

Their silence—for she seemed to sigh,

Untaught by minstrels silver tone,

Beneath that deep—etherial sky

And sweetly breathe her Matins lone,

With wildest music that was all her own!

But ah! a graceful Muse advances,

And in her arms a Cherub bears—

Whose laughing eye, joy .. sweetness, glances

Whose smile was sunshine—and whose tears

(Pleasures own rainbow) seemed to flow

In mocking at the frown of woe!

Instant the silent lyre awoke,

To hail its Muse, and favor’d child

Upon those things, pure numbers broke

In Music beautiful, and wild!!

My Alfred! May I call thee so?

My tributory toils beguile–

One glance from those soft eyes bestow—

And fondly gaze, and sweetly smile!

And tho’ thy Ba would strive to bless,

Tis not poetic claims to prove—

For while she greets thy kind caress

She only seeks her Alfred’s love!–

E B Barrett—

Publication: None traced.

Manuscript: Berg Collection.

1. His first birthday.

___________________