Specimens of American poetry | ||
THOU ART THE MUSE.
No genius lends its sacred fire
To animate my song;
To me no heaven-presented lyre
Or muse-taught verse belong.
To animate my song;
To me no heaven-presented lyre
Or muse-taught verse belong.
353
She who first charm'd my soul to love,
Inspired the tuneful breath;
With love-instructed hand I wove
For her the early wreath.
Inspired the tuneful breath;
With love-instructed hand I wove
For her the early wreath.
To her the softest strains I owe
Who first inspired the flame;
And sweetest shall the numbers flow,
When graced with Emma's name.
Who first inspired the flame;
And sweetest shall the numbers flow,
When graced with Emma's name.
Specimens of American poetry | ||