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And sometimes all thy pleasing spells employ,
To bid affliction own a transient joy:
For oft 'tis thine to chase the tear away
With soothing harp and melancholy lay;
And sorrow feels the magic for a while,
And then, with sad expression, learns to smile.
Oh! teach me all the soft bewitching art,
The music that may cheer a wounded heart:
For I would love to bid emotion cease,
With sweetest melodies that whisper peace;
And all the visions of delight restore,
The soften'd memory of hours no more.
Ah! Genius, when thy dulcet measures flow,
Then pleasure animates the cheek of woe;
And sheds a sad and transitory grace,
O'er the pale beauty of the languid face.
But when 'tis thine to feel the pang of grief,
Without one melting friend to bring relief;
Then, who thy pain shall soften and beguile,
What gentle spirit cheer thee with a smile;
And bid thy last departing hopes revive,
And all thy flattering dreams of rapture live?
Oh! turn to Him thy supplicating eye,
The God of peace and tenderest charity;
