 | Poems |  |
143
To ---
I
As by thy paly lamp, dew-weeping Hesper,I musing strayed with devious step and slow;
Or paused to catch thy vot'rist bird's faint vesper,
A distant strain arose, soft, wild, and low.
II
Swelling full sweet, with every gale it blended,And like a loud sigh breath'd o'er Eve's sad gloom,
Such strains from Arion's wave-borne lyre ascended,
Such Philomel pour'd o'er her Orpheus' tomb.
III
And as it on the stilly air expired,Its dying cadence woke each slumbering joy;
For ah! I ken'd that strain was then respired,
By thee, thou truant, long-lost minstrel boy.
144
IV
Oh! cease not then thy song of magic power,Each vision'd form of faded bliss to raise;
And in return my Fancy's choicest flower
I'll cull, to weave amidst thy wreath of bays!
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