 | Phantasmion |  |
[Grief's heavy hand hath sway'd the lute]
Grief's heavy hand hath sway'd the lute;
'Tis henceforth mute:
Though pleasure woo, the strings no more respond
To touches light as fond,
Silenced as if by an enchanter's wand.
'Tis henceforth mute:
Though pleasure woo, the strings no more respond
To touches light as fond,
Silenced as if by an enchanter's wand.
117
Do thou brace up each slackened chord,
Love, gentle lord;
Then shall the lute pour grateful melodies
On every breeze,
Strains that celestial choristers may please.
Love, gentle lord;
Then shall the lute pour grateful melodies
On every breeze,
Strains that celestial choristers may please.
| Phantasmion | |