Page:Poems Mitford.djvu/105

O goddess of the brilliant eye,
 Grant me thy soul-enchanting pow'r!
Teach me each pensive scene to fly!
 And wing with joy youth's fleeting hour!

No more I'll waste the listless day
 In dreams with sickly fancy fraught,
To languid indolence a prey,
 Or vain regret, or pensive thought;

No more o'er tales of fancied woe
 I'll weep in sympathetic pain;
No more the ready tear shall flow
 At music's sweetly plaintive strain;

No more, beneath the moon's pale beam,
 I'll roam at ev'ning's lonely hour,
List to the screech-owl's shrilly scream,
 Quick darting from her ivied bow'r;