 | Poems by Mrs. Opie |  |
121
STANZAS WRITTEN UNDER ÆOLUS'S HARP.
Come, ye whose hearts the tyrant sorrows wound;
Come, ye whose breasts the tyrant passions tear,
And seek this harp,....in whose still-varying sound
Each woe its own appropriate plaint may hear.
Come, ye whose breasts the tyrant passions tear,
And seek this harp,....in whose still-varying sound
Each woe its own appropriate plaint may hear.
Solemn and slow yon murmuring cadence rolls,
Till on the attentive ear it dies away,....
To your fond griefs responsive, ye, whose souls
O'er loved lost friends regret's sad tribute pay.
Till on the attentive ear it dies away,....
To your fond griefs responsive, ye, whose souls
O'er loved lost friends regret's sad tribute pay.
122
But hark! in regular progression move
Yon silver sounds, and mingle as they fall;....
Do they not wake thy trembling nerves, O Love,
And into warmer life thy feelings call?
Yon silver sounds, and mingle as they fall;....
Do they not wake thy trembling nerves, O Love,
And into warmer life thy feelings call?
Again it speaks;...but, shrill and swift, the tones
In wild disorder strike upon the ear:
Pale Phrensy listens,....kindred wildness owns,
And starts appalled the well-known sounds to hear:
In wild disorder strike upon the ear:
Pale Phrensy listens,....kindred wildness owns,
And starts appalled the well-known sounds to hear:
Lo! e'en the gay, the giddy and the vain
In deep delight these vocal wires attend,....
Silent and breathless watch the varying strain,
And pleased the vacant toils of mirth suspend.
In deep delight these vocal wires attend,....
Silent and breathless watch the varying strain,
And pleased the vacant toils of mirth suspend.
123
So, when the lute on Memnon's statue hung
At day's first rising strains melodious poured
Untouched by mortal hands, the gathering throng
In silent wonder listened and adored.
At day's first rising strains melodious poured
Untouched by mortal hands, the gathering throng
In silent wonder listened and adored.
But the wild cadence of these trembling strings
The enchantress Fancy with most rapture hears;
At the sweet sound to grasp her wand she springs,
And lo! her band of airy shapes appears!
The enchantress Fancy with most rapture hears;
At the sweet sound to grasp her wand she springs,
And lo! her band of airy shapes appears!
She, rapt enthusiast, thinks the melting strains
A choir of angels breathe, in bright array
Bearing on radiant clouds to yon blue plains
A soul just parted from its silent clay.
A choir of angels breathe, in bright array
Bearing on radiant clouds to yon blue plains
A soul just parted from its silent clay.
124
And oft at eve her wild creative eye
Sees to the gale their silken pinions stream,
While in the quivering trees soft zephyrs sigh,
And through the leaves disclose the moon's pale beam.
Sees to the gale their silken pinions stream,
While in the quivering trees soft zephyrs sigh,
And through the leaves disclose the moon's pale beam.
O breathing instrument! be ever near
While to the pensive muse my vows I pay;
Thy softest call the inmost soul can hear,
Thy faintest breath can Fancy's pinions play.
While to the pensive muse my vows I pay;
Thy softest call the inmost soul can hear,
Thy faintest breath can Fancy's pinions play.
And when art's laboured strains my feelings tire,
To seek thy simple music shall be mine;
I'll strive to win its graces to my lyre,
And make my plaintive lays enchant like thine.
To seek thy simple music shall be mine;
I'll strive to win its graces to my lyre,
And make my plaintive lays enchant like thine.
| Poems by Mrs. Opie | |