a ipoet ot tbe ipoor 



us down the past to the childhood of our 

 race, where so many of our dormant long- 

 ings are rooted deep in primitive soil. 

 His touch brings up the racy sap of ancient 

 virility into our lives, and warms our 

 hearts with the glow of almost forgotten 

 elements. Our poverty, our utter in- 

 digence, as regards the primitive, natural 

 pleasures of life, startles us as we read the 

 old Doric flute-scores of this strangely 

 gifted genius. How perfect was his vision 

 of the original human simplicities! He 

 had artisanship, knew how to turn phrases 

 and construct word-melodies; but his 

 knowledge of nude and rude character 

 and his forthright art of sketching it once 

 and forever are never subordinated to mere 

 literature. 



O Mother JEtna, I too have a home, 

 A pleasant cavern in the hollow cliff, 

 ^Where all the wealth of dreams is heaped for me. 



When we know that the singer's treasure 



consisted of a goatskin bed, a hot pudding, 



and some roasted nuts, his primitiveness 



and his childlike sincerity are rounded to 



104 



