 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
TO MY HARP.
In vain! in vain! my hand no more
Thy charm of silence now can break;
No longer wilt thou deign to pour
The music I was wont to make.
In vain with wooing touch I fling
My fingers o'er each radiant string;
Still all are hushed, or but reply
In strains of broken melody.
Thy charm of silence now can break;
No longer wilt thou deign to pour
The music I was wont to make.
In vain with wooing touch I fling
My fingers o'er each radiant string;
Still all are hushed, or but reply
In strains of broken melody.
Have I, then, lost the power to sway
Thy magic chords with former skill?
Or art thou wearied to obey
The impulse of a wayward will?
This feeble hand has now new power
In painful study's toilsome hour,
This wayward will no longer strays
'Mid passion's wild and devious ways.
Where, then, my lonely harp, has gone
The sweetness of thy early tone?
Thy magic chords with former skill?
Or art thou wearied to obey
The impulse of a wayward will?
This feeble hand has now new power
In painful study's toilsome hour,
This wayward will no longer strays
'Mid passion's wild and devious ways.
Where, then, my lonely harp, has gone
The sweetness of thy early tone?
Ah! well I know; thou wert not made
'Neath pleasure's sunny light to dwell,
'Tis only in dark sorrow's shade
Thy song can wake its powerful spell;
Thou wast but formed with gentle art
To charm the desolated heart.
'Neath pleasure's sunny light to dwell,
'Tis only in dark sorrow's shade
Thy song can wake its powerful spell;
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To charm the desolated heart.
And now that o'er my wearied soul
The light of happiness is shed,
No more thou yield'st to my control,
Thy soul of melody is fled.
Well be it so—I will not seek
That thou in tones of joy shouldst speak;
But ah! too soon the clouds of woe
Their darkness o'er my soul will throw,
Then will I woo thy soothing strain
To cheer my saddened hours again;
And when despair's fell demons throng
I will invoke thy gentle song
The fearful shadows to dispel:
Till then, loved harp, farewell, farewell.
The light of happiness is shed,
No more thou yield'st to my control,
Thy soul of melody is fled.
Well be it so—I will not seek
That thou in tones of joy shouldst speak;
But ah! too soon the clouds of woe
Their darkness o'er my soul will throw,
Then will I woo thy soothing strain
To cheer my saddened hours again;
And when despair's fell demons throng
I will invoke thy gentle song
The fearful shadows to dispel:
Till then, loved harp, farewell, farewell.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |