Were borrowed from some higher sphere
Than this discordant world of ours.
Nor is their magic gift of song
The only charm they o'er me throw;
They ne'er the poor and helpless wrong,
Nor swell the tide of human woe.
Their voice is ne'er with slander fraught,
Or friendships in misfortune change,
Nor speech or deed betrayeth aught
Of av'rice, hatred, and revenge.