TELL me, ye bards, whose skill sublime First charmed the ear of youthful Time, With numbers wrapt in heavenly fire, Who bade delighted Echo swell The trembling transports of the lyre, The murmur of the shell -- Why to the burst of Joy alone Accords sweet Music's soothing tone? Why can no bard, with magic strain, In slumbers steep the heart of pain? While varied tones obey your sweep, The mild, the plaintive, and the deep, Bends not despairing Grief to hear Your golden lute, with ravished ear? Has all your art no power to bind The fiercer pangs that shake the mind, And lull the wrath at whose command Murder bares her gory hand? When flushed with joy, the rosy throng Weave the light dance, ye swell the song! Cease, ye vain warblers! cease to charm The breast with other raptures warm! Cease! till your hand with magic strain In slumbers steep the heart of pain! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STREET-CRIES: 2. THE SHIP OF EARTH by SIDNEY LANIER SONG OF THE SILENT LAND by JOHANN GAUDENZ VON SALIS-SEEWIS A CHRISTMAS CAMP ON THE SAN GABR'EL by AMELIA EDITH HUDDLESTON BARR STRUCTURAL IRON WORKERS by MACKNIGHT BLACK LOVE AFTER SORROW by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 36 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |