Mute on the favourite pine is hung;
No beam awakes the airy soul
Which o’er its chords wild warbling stole.”
After much more in this strain, he concluded
“Thou tuneful maid, thy ardent song
Shall tell of Hafnia’s bitter wrong:
My pen has force with magic word
To blast the fierce-consuming sword.
For not poetic fire alone
Is thine to warm a breast of stone;