University of Virginia Library


59

XI. SONNET.

[Yes, Fancy yields me love's resistless lyre!]

Yes, Fancy yields me love's resistless lyre!
To wake the song of melody is mine,
Smoothly to modulate the luscious line,
With rapture melt, or tenderness inspire:
The breath of genius fans my youthful fire,
Celestial harmony forsakes the shrine,
Where erst she sat amid the choral nine,
And listening to my lays that breathe desire,
Marks the warm tears from Laura's eye-lid steal!
Those sacred drops no mortal measure drew—
I rave! I dream! Can death's pale shadow feel?
Silent, for ever cold!—Renew, renew
Thy plaint, that well might rend a heart of steel!
Not Fancy's self conceives the vision true!