 | Poems, in English, Scotch, and Latin |  |
78
THE HARP.
The captive Israelites of old,(As we in Holy Writ are told)
Forgetting Sion's flats and sharps,
Dejected hung their useless harps
The weeping willow trees upon,
Fast by the streams of Babylon.
So I, an exile from thy sight,
In drooping doleful piteous plight,
Have laid at rest my tuneless tongue,
And my harsh harp on willow hung,
In hopes that Zephyr's downy wings,
Sweeping gently o'er the strings,
79
Than those of my unskilful hand,
And, partial to th'Æolian note,
O'er beds of flowers may with it float
To thee, and light the latent fire,
Which rougher gales would make expire.
But if the softest melting airs,
Which Zephyr on his pinions bears,
Thy heart should rather cool than warm,
And, like my freezing notes, do harm;
If disappointment or suspense
Should still point to some future hence,
Suspended on the branch with me
Sweet harp, O sing my elegy!
| Poems, in English, Scotch, and Latin | |