 | Poems |  |
52
LINES.
IMITATED FROM THE GREEK OF ALCÆUS.
[Ah, were I but the lyre, my fair]
Ah, were I but the lyre, my fair,
Thy tuneful fingers wander o'er;—
I might as well be such, for, oh!
You could not play upon me more.
Thy tuneful fingers wander o'er;—
I might as well be such, for, oh!
You could not play upon me more.
E'en, as you bid, I'm grave or gay,—
I smile or sigh, feel woe or glee;
For you have stol'n my heart away,
And now you are the heart of me.
I smile or sigh, feel woe or glee;
For you have stol'n my heart away,
And now you are the heart of me.
Or, would I were yon vase of gold,
Which in the banquet still you sip;
Rich draughts my form would then enfold,
And love and wine embathe my lip.
Which in the banquet still you sip;
Rich draughts my form would then enfold,
And love and wine embathe my lip.
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