 | Poems |  |
10
MADRIGAL.
[My Harp, which oft so fondly rings]
My Harp, which oft so fondly ringsFrom peep of day
Till evening grey,
Is strung with twenty golden strings:
There's a string for joy, and a string for woe;
A string to bless the goblet's flow;
One rousing youth and the battle's rage;
One blessing peace and the thoughtful sage;
Two which will only friendship own;
Three when soft pity
Claims the ditty;—
But all the rest are Love's alone!
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