Thomas Hardy — At Madame Tussauds In Victorian Years

"That same first fiddler who leads the orchestra to-night         Here fiddled four decades of years ago; He bears the same babe-like smile of self-centred delight, Same trinket on watch-chain, same ring on the hand with the bow. "But his face, if regarded, is woefully wanner, and drier,         And his once dark beard has grown straggling and gray; Yet a blissful existence he seems to have led with his lyre, In a trance of his own, where no wearing or tearing had sway. "Mid these wax figures, who nothing can do, it may seem         That to do but a little thing counts a great deal; To be watched by kings, councillors, queens, may be flattering to him - With their glass eyes longing they too could wake notes that appeal." * * * Ah, but he played staunchly—that fiddler—whoever he was,         With the innocent heart and the soul-touching string: May he find the Fair Haven! For did he not smile with good cause? Yes; gamuts that graced forty years'-flight were not a small thing!