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THE VOICE OF PRAISE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: There is a voice of magic power
Last Line: My mother! Need I say't is thine!


There is a voice of magic power
To charm the old, delight the young --
In lordly hall, in rustic bower,
In every clime, in every tongue;
Howe'er its sweet vibration rung,
In whispers low, in poet's lays,
There lives not one who has not hung
Enraptur'd on the voice of praise.

The timid child, at that soft voice
Lifts for a moment's space the eye;
It bids the fluttering heart rejoice,
And stays the step prepar'd to fly:
'T is pleasure breathes that short quick sigh,
And flushes o'er that rosy face;
Whilst shame and infant modesty
Shrink back with hesitating grace.

The lovely maiden's dimpled cheek
At that sweet voice still deeper glows;
Her quivering lips in vain would seek,
To hide the bliss her eyes disclose;
The charm her sweet confusion shows
Oft springs from some low broken word:
O Praise! to her how sweetly flows
Thine accent from the lov'd one heard!

The hero, when a people's voice
Proclaims their darling victor near,
Feels he not then his soul rejoice,
The shouts of love, of praise, to hear?
Yes! fame to generous minds is dear --
It pierces to their inmost core:
He weeps, who never shed a tear;
He trembles, who ne'er shook before.

The poet, too; -- ah! well I deem
Small is the need the tale to tell;
Who knows not that his thought, his dream,
On thee at noon, at midnight, dwell?
Who knows not that thy magic spell
Can charm his every care away?
In memory, cheer his gloomy cell;
In hope, can lend a deathless day?

'T is sweet to watch Affection's eye:
To mark the tear with love replete;
To feel the softly-breathing sigh,
When Friendship's lips the tones repeat;
But oh! a thousand times more sweet
The praise of those we love to hear!
Like balmy showers in summer heat,
It falls upon the greedy ear.

The lover lulls his rankling wound,
By dwelling on his fair one's name;
The mother listens for the sound
Of her young warrior's growing fame.
Thy voice can soothe the mourning dame
Of her soul's wedded partner riven,
Who cherishes the hallow'd flame,
Parted on earth, to meet in heaven! --

That voice can quiet passion's mood,
Can humble merit raise on high;
And from the wise, and from the good,
It breathes of immortality!
There is a lip, there is an eye
Where most I love to see it shine,
To hear it speak, to feel it sigh, --
My mother! need I say't is thine!





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