Oh! music sweeter than the Arcadian’s tune,
Wooing the dryads from the woodlands haunted;
Or than beneath the mellow harvest moon,
Trembles at midnight over lakes enchanted!
Oh! sweeter than the herald of the morn,
The clarion lark, that wakes the drowsy peasant,
Is this which thrills my breast, so else forlorn,
And with the Past and distant fills the Present.
Thus, with the music ringing in my heart,
I may awhile forget an exile’s sorrow,