Alas, their hearts but little thought,
While thus they talked the hours away,
That every sound the Lyre was taught
Would linger long, and long betray.
So mingled with its tuneful soul
Were all the tender murmurs grown,
That other sighs unanswered stole,
Nor words it breathed but theirs alone.
Unhappy nymph! thy name was sung
To every breeze that wandered by;
The secrets of thy gentle tongue
Were breathed in song to earth and sky.
The fatal Lyre, by Envy's hand
Hung high amid the whispering groves,
To every gale by which 'twas fanned,
Proclaimed the mystery of your loves.
Nor long thus rudely was thy name
To earth's derisive echoes given;
Some pitying spirit downward came.
And took the Lyre and thee to heaven.
There, freed from earth's unholy wrongs,
Both happy in Love's home shall be;
Thou, uttering naught but seraph songs,
And that sweet Lyre still echoing thee!
PEACE AND GLORY.
WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF WAR.
Where is now the smile, that lightened
Every hero's couch of rest?
Where is now the hope, that brightened
Honor's eye and Pity's breast?
Have we lost the wreath we braided
For our weary warrior men?
Is the faithless olive faded?
Must the bay be plucked again?
Passing hour of sunny weather,
Lovely, in your light awhile,
Peace and Glory, wed together,
Wandered through our blessed isle.
And the eyes of Peace would glisten,
Dewy as a morning sun,
When the timid maid would listen
To the deeds her chief had done.