 | The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber |  |
361
SONG TO A SCOTCH AIR.
I love the harp with silver sound,
That rings the festal hall around;
But sweetest of all
The strains which fall,
When twilight mirth with song is crown'd.
That rings the festal hall around;
But sweetest of all
The strains which fall,
When twilight mirth with song is crown'd.
I love the bugle's warbling swell,
When echo answers from her cell;
But sweeter to me,
When I list to thee,
Who wak'st the northern lay so well.
When echo answers from her cell;
But sweeter to me,
When I list to thee,
Who wak'st the northern lay so well.
| The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber | |