Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped?
"For as victory was nighest,
While I sang and played,—
With my lyre at lowest, highest,
Right alike,—one string that made
'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain,
Never to be heard again,—
"Had not a kind cricket fluttered,
Perched upon the place
Vacant left, and duly uttered