 | The Village Churchyard |  |
168
SONG.
Bring me my harp—and let me sing
Thy sorrows all to sleep;
A charm from yon blue heaven I'll wring,
A spell from yon blue deep.
Thy sorrows all to sleep;
A charm from yon blue heaven I'll wring,
A spell from yon blue deep.
To soothe, to glad thy sinking heart,
My gentle friend beloved,
To bid the darkness, thence depart,
The weight be thence removed.
My gentle friend beloved,
To bid the darkness, thence depart,
The weight be thence removed.
I'll bid thee mark the clouds that fly,
With threatening aspect drear and dark,
Along the wide and shadowy sky—
Then bid thee their dispersion mark.
With threatening aspect drear and dark,
Along the wide and shadowy sky—
Then bid thee their dispersion mark.
169
I'll shew thee on the water's breast
A thousand bubbles, white and wild—
Then bid thee mark them sink to rest,
In glassy smoothness reconciled.
A thousand bubbles, white and wild—
Then bid thee mark them sink to rest,
In glassy smoothness reconciled.
My harp is brought—Oh, let it bring
O'er thy pale cheek a smile serene—
Alas! I fear 't will only fling
A darker shade along its sheen.
O'er thy pale cheek a smile serene—
Alas! I fear 't will only fling
A darker shade along its sheen.
Music's so close allied to love—
How should it soothe thy love-born woe,
Ah! how should music's self remove,
A shade that music's soul could throw.
How should it soothe thy love-born woe,
Ah! how should music's self remove,
A shade that music's soul could throw.
Bear hence my harp—our mutual grief,
(For shadow-like, mine followeth thine;)
Shall in indulgence seek relief,
In sympathy a cure divine.
(For shadow-like, mine followeth thine;)
Shall in indulgence seek relief,
In sympathy a cure divine.
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