TO AMELIA.
And wouldst thou, sweet minstrel, if earth should unfold
To thee all her treasures of silver and gold,
Resign all thy riches, thy wealth, fame and power,
To sing like the birds in the green woodland bower?
Like thee, dear Amelia, I love the wild bird,
Their soft melting strains, at grey twilight, I've heard;
The whippowils, then, on the cool zephyr's wing,
Their clear pensive notes in rich harmony fling.