Music hath pow'r over ladye fair,
When stars thro' heav'n are straying;
And under her window her own true-love
On the hurdy-gurdy's playing.
Music hath power in the morn of life:
A pow'r not unfelt by any one.
No trumpet e'er sounds, in after-days,
So sweetly as youth's penny one.
Music hath pow'r in age to recall
Sweet thoughts of youth and home.