My heart would leave all meaner things.
Thy music owns a magic spell
To thrill my breast with glowing love;
Each rising throb of anguish quell
And make my pulse enraptured move!
No hoards of classic lore are mine;
Few treasures of historic truth;
No ancient themes my thoughts refine,
And past’s the sunshine of my youth.
Thus boding sadness chills my heart,