She touched the strings, she ruled the lute,
And many a soft harmonious flute
That mocked the birds in leafy quire;
But oft this spirit would aspire
To lift the solemn organ’s voice,
And this would be her dearest choice,
Till, with its deeper soul embued,
My soul forgot its solitude.
Yet one there was, both dumb and blind,
Who yet was wise in every kind,