Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 31, Pages 781-782
THE SONG OF THE GIFTED.
BY MRS HEMANS.
That voice re-measures
Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures
The things of mature utter: birds or trees,
Or where the tall grass 'mid the heath-plant waves,
Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze.
Coleridge.
I heard a song upon the wandering wind,
A song of many tones—though one full soul
Breathed through them all imploringly; and made
All nature as they pass'd, all quivering leaves
And low responsive reeds and waters thrill,
As with the consciousness of human prayer.
—At times the passion-kindled melody
Might seem to gush from Sappho's fervent heart,
Over the wild sea-wave;—at times the strain
Flow’d with more plaintive sweetness, as if born
Of Petrarch's voice, beside the lone Vaucluse;
And sometimes, with its melancholy swell,
A graver sound was mingled, a deep note
Of Tasso's holy lyre;—yet still the tones
Were of a suppliant;—"Leave me not!" was still
The burden of their music; and I knew
