To fill each bosom with poetic fire?
Or does some angel strike the sounding strings,
Who caught from echo the wild note he sings?
But, ah! another strain! how sweet! how wild!
Now, rushing low, ’tis soothing, soft, and mild.’”
The noise made by her mother roused Lucretia, who soon afterwards brought her the preceding verses, with the following added to them, being an address to her Æolian harp:—
“And tell me now, ye spirits of the wind,
O, tell me where those artless notes to find—
So lofty now, so loud, so sweet, so clear,
That even angels might delighted hear.