All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold except his wife's Harp. That, he said, was too closely associated with the idea of herself; it belonged to the little story of their loves; for, some of the sweetest moments of their courtship were those when he had leaned over that instrument, and listened to the melting tones of her voice. Irving's Sketch Book.
Go, leave that harp!—twined round its strings
There's many a magic spell:
Leave that untouched,—the strain it brings
This heart remembers well.
No other home shall find.
Let that remain!—all else beside
Go scatter to the wind!
The chords that won my home a bride