 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
TO HARRIET.
I own I chid the plaintive strain,
Nor wished the muse to weep;
But I recall a thought so vain,
If Harriet's lyre must sleep.
What though its tones are sorrow's sighs,
'T is bliss those tones to hear;
And should they drown the listener's eyes,
They still would charm his ear.
Nor wished the muse to weep;
But I recall a thought so vain,
If Harriet's lyre must sleep.
What though its tones are sorrow's sighs,
'T is bliss those tones to hear;
And should they drown the listener's eyes,
They still would charm his ear.
Then, Harriet, tune thy “simple lyre,”
And sing of blessings fled,
While such ecstatic joys its wire
On other hearts can shed.
Yes, still with sorrow's lay alarm,
Be Penserosa still,
For if thy tones of grief thus charm,
Thy notes of joy would kill.
And sing of blessings fled,
While such ecstatic joys its wire
On other hearts can shed.
Yes, still with sorrow's lay alarm,
Be Penserosa still,
For if thy tones of grief thus charm,
Thy notes of joy would kill.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |