 | Euphrenia or the Test of Love |  |
XXXVII.
Not so the lady of the harp.In kind and earnest tones
She thanks her sister melodist,
And half the praise disowns;
Throws on that slighted being
Some portion of the rays
Which gild a high-born station
In these birth-loving days;
Eschews all airs of patronage,
And with true woman's art
Seeks not to dazzle or amaze,
But aims to touch the heart.
| Euphrenia or the Test of Love | |