To do his will.
Repeat them as his genius did design,
His pow'r devise;
No higher tribute to his name and fame
From us could rise.




POETICAL INTERPRETATIONS


By ELIZABETH FRY PAGE




TO MACDOWELL

Now, in the darkness, mute, from hour to hour,
Sits one who lov'd all life, and from the strings
Of well-tuned harp brought sounds of common things,
And sang of sea and wood and tree and flow'r.
His task all done, fled usefulness and pow'r,
Through the deep shade his uncurbed fancy wings,
While with his fame his proud land loudly rings,
And praise falls on his work in lavish show'r.

The rosemary we bring, and no rude hand
The laurel would withhold, the plaudits stay.