Soon, thrilled like them with an immortal fire,
Seraphic hosts, perchance, my ardent lyre
In ecstasy shall steep!
Soon—but the dull cold hand of death along
My chords has struck:—one farewell gush of song
Sad and receding—to the winds is given.
They break—’tis gone!—my friends, be yours the hymn!
My parting soul would rise, while earth grows dim,
In melody to heaven!