"Yoop-ee!" yelled an irreverent auditor.
"Silence! silence!" commanded the excited Professor in a hoarse
whisper; then, turning enthusiastically to the subject--"Go on, young
man! Go on!--'_Thy head-was fair-with flaxen hair_--'"
"My head was fair
With flaxen hair,
And fragrant breezes, faint and rare,
And warm with drouth
From out the south,
Blew all my curls across my mouth."
The speaker's voice, exquisitely modulated, yet resonant as the twang
of a harp, now seemed of itself to draw and hold each listener; while
a certain extravagance of gesticulation--a fantastic movement of both
form and feature--seemed very near akin to fascination. And so flowed
on the curious utterance:
"And, cool and sweet,
My naked feet
Found dewy pathways through the wheat;
And out again
Where, down the lane,
The dust was dimpled with the rain."
In the pause following there was a breathlessness almost painful. The
poem went on:
"But yesterday
I heard the lay
Of summer birds, when I, as they
With breast and wing,
All quivering
With life and love, could only sing.
"My head was leant,
Where, with it, blent
A maiden's, o'er her instrument;
While all the night,
From vale to height,
Was filled with echoes of delight.
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