Julia Alpinula | ||
231
I took the Harp.
1
I took the harp, and would have sung,But scarcely had its tones awoke,
When lo! a chord too harshly strung,
Beneath my fingers, sighing, broke.
2
'Tis thus the heart of gentle mouldTo love, alas, too fondly given,
Ere it can well its tale unfold,
By Beauty's careless touch is riven.
3
And when its sweetest thrill is o'er,And it has ceased to throb for ever,
Can kindliest smiles its pulse restore,
Or warm it then?—no, never! never!
4
Then, Lady, whilst that heart's awakeWhich beats for thee, and thee alone,
Remember that its chords will break,
If with rude hand they're dwelt upon.
Julia Alpinula | ||