 | The Death-Wake |  |
63
TO THE HARP.
I
Jewel! that lay before the heartOf some romantic boy,
And startled music in her home,
Of mystery and joy!
II
The image of his love was there;And, with her golden wings,
She swept their tone of sorrow from
Thy melancholy strings!
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III
We drew thee, as an orphan one,From waters that had cast
No music round thee, as they went
In their pale beauty past.
IV
No music but the changeless sigh—That murmur of their own,
That loves not blending in the thrill
Of thine aerial tone.
V
The girl that slumbers at our sideWill dream how they are bent,
That love her even as they love
Thy blessed instrument.
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VI
And music, like a flood, will breakUpon the fairy throne
Of her pure heart, all glowing, like
A morning star, alone!
VII
Alone, but for the song of himThat waketh by her side,
And strikes thy chords of silver to
His fair and sea-borne bride.
VIII
Jewel! that hung before the heartOf some romantic boy;
Like him, I sweep thee with a storm
Of music and of joy!
| The Death-Wake | |