 | Poems and other Pieces |  |
TO PHILOMEL,
A FRAGMENT.
No noise I heard, but all was still as death,Save that at times a distant dying note
Of spirit unseen, or Heaven's minstrelsy,
Would indistinctly meet my ravish'd ear,
Such as was never heard from harp or lute,
Or waked into a voice by human hand.
Ah, Philomel, the strain was thine!—
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