University of Virginia Library

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74

TO Miss K--- P---.

[Gentle Kitty, take the lyre]

Gentle Kitty, take the lyre
Thy magic hands alone inspire!
But wake not once such swelling chords
As rouse Ambition's stormy lords,
Nor airs that jocund tabors play
To dancing youth in shades of May,
Nor songs that shake old Picton's towers,
When feast and music blend their powers!
But notes of mildest accent call,
Of plaintive touch and dying fall;
Notes, to which thy hand, thy tongue,
Thy every tender power is strung.—

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75

Cambrian maid, repeat that strain!
Sooth my widow'd bosom's pain!
Its passions own thy melting tones;
Sighs succeed to bursting groans;
Soft and softer still they flow,
Breathing more of love than woe;
Glistening in my eye appears
A tenderer dew than bitter tears;
Springing hope despair beguiles,
And sadness softens into smiles.

I quit thy lyre—but still the train
Of sweet sensations warms my brain.
What? tho' social joy and love
Forget to haunt my sullen grove:
Tho' there my soul, a stagnant flood,
Nor flows its own, or others good,
Emblem of yon faded flower,
That, chill'd by frost, expands no more:

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76

The dreary scene yet sometimes closes
When sleep inspires, on beds of roses,
Such dear delusions, fairy charms
As Fancy dreams in Virtue's arms.
For see, a gracious form is near!
She comes to dry my falling tear.
One pious hand in pity spread
Supports my else unshelter'd head;
The other waves to chace away
The spectres haunting all my day:
She calls—above, below, around
Sweet fragrance breathes, sweet voices sound—