ERINNA.
247
Such were my myriad visions of delight.
The lute, which hitherto in Delphian shades
Had been my twilight's solitary joy,
Would henceforth be a sweet and breathing bond
Between me and my kind. Orphan unloved,
I had been lonely from my childhood's hour,
Childhood whose very happiness is love:
But that was over now; my lyre would be
My own heart's true interpreter, and those
To whom my song was dear, would they not bless
The hand that waken'd it? I should be loved
For the so gentle sake of those soft chords
Which mingled others' feelings with mine own.
Vow'd I that song to meek and gentle thoughts.
To tales that told of sorrow and of love,
R 4
