TO MARY, ASKING FOR A SONG.
———
BY MATTHIAS WARD.
———
The song, dear maid, you deign to ask,
What churlish mortal could refuse;
Then, while I ply my pleasing task,
Be thou at once my theme and muse.
While to such theme my gift I bring,
Fair muse, inspire me as I sing.
A song you ask—if music flow,
To make thy gentle heart rejoice;
Ope but thy lips, and soon thou’lt know
’Tis but the echo of thy voice.
Such tones, if kindly, still prolong—
I cannot ask a sweeter song.
There’s music beaming from thy brow—
Within thine eyes a tuneful tongue;
And gazing there, I fancy how
The morning stars together sung.
Through passion’s waste, when wandering far,
Heaven grant thee for my guiding star.
Ask you for music? Go but forth,
And air salutes each varied charm;
The wildest tempest from the north,
Melodious dances o’er thy form.
Would that my tones had winning powers,
Like breezes when they kiss the flowers!
The birds are dumb in dreamy night,
And silent wait the opening day;
But when he brings his wakening light,
The morn rejoices in their lay.
From grove and brook sweet music floats,
Responsive to their happy notes.
Thus mute my voice when thou art gone,
And thus my vigil waits thine eyes;
But when once more I view their dawn,
My matin song will gladly rise,
E’er may it reach a willing ear,
And welcome prove, when thou art near.