How blast the bard whom happier themes inspire,
Who wakes with kindred lays his melting lyre;
Whose soothing tones by sympathy impart,
Joy's glad emotions to the feeling heart!
But mine be such dread notes as fiercely pour
The shrieks of anguish on the midnight hour!
Be mine the broken strain, the fearful sound,
That wildly winds the howling death-song round!
Come then, celestial Muse! with Sybil-bough,
Lead thro' the horrors these scenes of woe: