Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
The Golden Legend. iv.
Hospitality sitting with Gladness.
Translation from Frithiof's Saga.
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate,
Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours
Weeping upon his bed has sate,
He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.
Motto, Hyperion. Book i.[617:2]
Something the heart must have to cherish,