TO MRS. S. J. P———.
Lady, the last lay of thy muse's lyre
Hath stirred the deep tides of my youthful soul;
The strain hath lulled to rest each wild desire,
And soothed my feelings with its soft control;
Canst thou to me thy magic power impart,
The power to please the ear, and melt the heart?
Hath stirred the deep tides of my youthful soul;
The strain hath lulled to rest each wild desire,
And soothed my feelings with its soft control;
Canst thou to me thy magic power impart,
The power to please the ear, and melt the heart?
'T is with an untaught hand I sweep the chords,
Which yield to thee their softest, sweetest tone;
The only melody my touch affords
Is wild and mournful as a wind-harp's moan;
But lyre and song are both too weak to tell
The thoughts, that in my throbbing bosom swell.
Which yield to thee their softest, sweetest tone;
The only melody my touch affords
Is wild and mournful as a wind-harp's moan;
But lyre and song are both too weak to tell
The thoughts, that in my throbbing bosom swell.
But thou hast bid me learn to quell and hush
My thrilling feelings in my bosom deep,
To bid them all, when forth they fain would rush,
Back to their cells, in silence there to sleep;
Ah! I have long since learned that bitter task,
To hide my feelings 'neath a different mask.
My thrilling feelings in my bosom deep,
To bid them all, when forth they fain would rush,
Back to their cells, in silence there to sleep;
Ah! I have long since learned that bitter task,
To hide my feelings 'neath a different mask.
