Can blend the tones of weal and we,
So archly, that the heart may smile,
Though bright, unbidden tear-drops flow.
And thus thy wizard skill can weave
Music's soft twilight o'er the breast,
As mingling day and night, at eve,
Robe the far purpling hills for rest.
Thy voice is treasured in my soul,
And echoing memory shall prolong
Those woman tones, whose sweet control