TO MRS. SINGER. (NOW MRS. ROWE.)
On the Sight of some of her divine Poems, never printed.
July 19, 1706.
I.
On the fair banks of gentle Thames
I tun'd my harp; nor did celestial themes
Refuse to dance upon my strings:
There beneath the evening sky
I sung my cares asleep, and rais'd my wishes high
To everlasting things.
Sudden from Albion's western coast
Harmonious notes come gliding by,
The neighb'ring shepherds knew the silver sound;
‘'Tis Philomela's voice,’ the neighb'ring shepherds cry;
At once my strings all silent lie,
At once my fainting muse was lost,
In the superior sweetness drown'd.
In vain I bid my tuneful powers unite;
My soul retir'd, and left my tongue,
I was all ear, and Philomela's song
Was all divine delight.
II.
Now be my harp for ever dumb,
My muse attempt no more. 'Twas long ago
I bid adieu to mortal things,
To Grecian tales, and wars of Rome,
'Twas long ago I broke all but th'immortal strings;
Now those immortal strings have no employ,
Since a fair angel dwells below,
To tune the notes of heaven, and propagate the joy.
Let all my powers with awe profound
While Philomela sings,
Attend the rapture of the sound,
And my devotion rise on her seraphic wings.
