 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
197
TO MY LYRE.
Once more, once more forgotten lyre, my trembling hands must stray,
Amid thy strings, yet feel no fire, from thy awakening lay;
Vain effort, where the pride that woke, its mountain-spirit's tone,
Now feels its innate fabric broke, and hearts rich music gone.
Amid thy strings, yet feel no fire, from thy awakening lay;
Vain effort, where the pride that woke, its mountain-spirit's tone,
Now feels its innate fabric broke, and hearts rich music gone.
The many frown'd, the few reprov'd, my converse, lyre, with thee,
Since it from graver themes removed, my early destiny;
Ah! little do they know the bliss, thy smallest strain affords,
Or, the pain that mingles now with this, sad parting from thy chords.
Since it from graver themes removed, my early destiny;
Ah! little do they know the bliss, thy smallest strain affords,
Or, the pain that mingles now with this, sad parting from thy chords.
Perchance in secret we may meet, when former faults forgot,
I then may find thy music sweet, and for thee tremble not—
Tho' Time, harsh monster, may pursue my destiny with pain
And friends now few, become more few we'll meet, my lyre, again.
I then may find thy music sweet, and for thee tremble not—
Tho' Time, harsh monster, may pursue my destiny with pain
And friends now few, become more few we'll meet, my lyre, again.
Thou Tyrant of the wayward heart, that makes yet soothes its grief,
Inflicts the wound, yet can impart ev'n to that wound relief:
Thou rainbow in young Passion's storms whose span can still unite
Again Love's separated forms, and make their colours bright.
Inflicts the wound, yet can impart ev'n to that wound relief:
198
Again Love's separated forms, and make their colours bright.
A long farewel, a long farewel, harsh tempests may deny,
That eagle-stretch, where thou would'st swell to Glory's halcyon sky!
Yet less that loss of note I weep when I perchance shall know
That thou'rt unworthy of the deep affection I bestow
That eagle-stretch, where thou would'st swell to Glory's halcyon sky!
Yet less that loss of note I weep when I perchance shall know
That thou'rt unworthy of the deep affection I bestow
Oh! life has many partings, this—I may not, must not deem
There's pain in, tho' I've known the bliss that lingers round the dream—
The dream the Muses bow'r imparts, that pleasing dream, where Pain
Forgets his rule o'er broken hearts, and lets them link again.
There's pain in, tho' I've known the bliss that lingers round the dream—
The dream the Muses bow'r imparts, that pleasing dream, where Pain
Forgets his rule o'er broken hearts, and lets them link again.
| Lyrical and other poems | |