"He rushed before them to the glittering space, And, with a strength that was but strong desire, Cried, "I am Jubal, I!.... I made the lyre!" The tones amid a lake of silence fell Broken and strained, as if a feeble bell Had tuneless pealed the triumph of a land To listening crowds in expectation spanned. Sudden came showers of laughter on that lake; They spread along the train from front to wake In one great storm of merriment, while he Shrank doubting whether he could Jubal be..."