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ADDRESS TO THE LYRE.
WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF VAUCLUSE.
Yes, friendly Bow'r, that dost my anguish hide
In the soft Vale where Petrarch us'd to stray,
Wailing the Fair the cruel Fates denied,
Midst haunts ne'er gladden'd by the sunny ray;
In the soft Vale where Petrarch us'd to stray,
Wailing the Fair the cruel Fates denied,
Midst haunts ne'er gladden'd by the sunny ray;
To thy dark Glooms like him do I repair,
Breathing to thee my deep embosom'd sigh;
To thee and to this Harp, and yonder Air
That nightly hear my wish to sleep and die!
Breathing to thee my deep embosom'd sigh;
To thee and to this Harp, and yonder Air
That nightly hear my wish to sleep and die!
Come then, grief-subduing string,
All thy world of Magic bring,
To lull the sense of agonizing pain:
Try, ye chords, such lenient lays
As when twilight Zephyr plays
A soft and sweet Æolian strain.
Like that heav'n-descended Breeze,
Rising, falling, by degrees;
Now like blissful Lovers sighing,
Now like hopeless Lovers dying;
Vary thus th'enchanting Lay,
And steal—O steal me from myself away.
All thy world of Magic bring,
To lull the sense of agonizing pain:
Try, ye chords, such lenient lays
As when twilight Zephyr plays
A soft and sweet Æolian strain.
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Rising, falling, by degrees;
Now like blissful Lovers sighing,
Now like hopeless Lovers dying;
Vary thus th'enchanting Lay,
And steal—O steal me from myself away.
![]() | Harvest-Home (1805) | ![]() |